


in the locust wind

by HowCleverOfYou



Series: like sun and rainy weather [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: ((READ AUTHOR'S NOTES FOR TW/CW)), Accidental Outing, Ass-eating, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy and Max try to figure it out, Billy is secretly a huge geek, Blowjobs, Body Dysphoria, Canonical Child Abuse, Cheating, Cheese hat, Come Eating, Coming Out, Discussion of rape of a minor in chapter 6 ONLY, Dissociative Episode, Dreamsharing, Everyone is Very Hydrated, Existentialism, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Fluff, Gratuitous descriptions of Chicago, Identity Issues, Intergluteal Sex, Jealousy, Light and brief gore, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Nightmares, Nobody dies except Billy's hair, Past Relationship(s), Period-Typical Homophobic Language, Post-Season/Series 03, Racism, Romantic dildo, Self-Esteem Issues, Steve and Robin go to college yay, Steve catches Big Feelings, Steve is a shit boyfriend (to girls), Steve is into Billy's gym rat stank, Unreliable Narrator, Young men unable to emote, aka cum-slut Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 111,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowCleverOfYou/pseuds/HowCleverOfYou
Summary: Billy laughs, quiet so he doesn’t wake Max, but still warm and full, and Steve almost saysI think I’m falling in love with youand it hits him so hard that he knocks the carton of ice cream off the counter. It goes top-down. “Shit,” he says.***Or: Steve doesn't know what to do with the rest of his life, Billy sort of rises from the not-dead, and they figure it out. Together. {post-S3, canon-compliant}
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/OMC (past), Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley/OFC, Steve Harrington/OFC
Series: like sun and rainy weather [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827970
Comments: 67
Kudos: 236





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH! IT'S FINALLY DONE!!! I started this the second I finished season 3, which means that it's coming up on its first anniversary of conception. So much has changed since then and it shows between the first and final draft of this. This is 7 chapters long and clocks in at just under 108,000 words. WOW. Prior to this, the most I had ever written was 32k. This is a big'un. I am still editing chapters 3-7 and will be posting 2-7 in the coming days/weeks. My goal is to have everything done by July 4, but I also work full-time and am a part-time grad student, so it's possible I will miss that goal just a bit. The title is from "Bullet the Blue Sky" by U2. Not my vibe but once I saw that line I was like (deer taking off hooves and wiggling fingers gif)
> 
> Please check out the TW/CW at the beginning of each chapter!! There is discussion of past rape of a minor in chapter 6. I will put in the TW/CW where to skip if you need to.
> 
> I started writing this (obviously) way before George Floyd's death so I didn't expect the racial themes to be so relevant, but here we are. Please tell me if I get something wrong, or if something feels too icky. I am extremely, extremely open to learning from my mistakes. Neil Hargrove is the only person who uses slurs and, as a white woman, I opted for another n-word. However, I do NOT condone literally anything Neil Hargrove says or does because he is disgusting. I am not part of Harringrove BLM, but if you like this (or even if you don't), I would LOVE for you to make a donation to any charities that honor Black lives and to check out the work Harringrove BLM is doing over on tumblr. I was initially going to encourage donations in exchange for faster updates, but I decided last-minute to post this before the rest are 100% done. 
> 
> And finally, this is in part a love letter to Chicago (despite it umm still in large part being a segregated city). I did a lot of research on really unnecessarily specific things and I'm 100% sure I got at least something wrong. This fic takes place in 1986/1987, which is before my parents even graduated high school, so GIVE ME A BREAK I'M TRYIN'. I've never been to Little Italy/UIC, and 
> 
> So without further ado -- enjoy!
> 
> TW/CW: Steve is made to feel stupid by adults all throughout his life, stalker (not violent), vomiting (not graphic), depression, loss of purpose, alcohol, marijuana, cocaine (brief mention), child abuse (graphic but short - skip the dream sequence in the kitchen), anti-LGBTQ+ slurs (period-typical), racism (also short and only from Neil Hargrove), emotional cheating (in a relationship)

“Mr. Harrington,” says Mr. Jensen. He sighs, bridging his fingers together in front of his face so Steve knows he’s displeased. Steve keeps rubbing the toe of his shoe against the leg of his chair to keep himself from falling asleep, because Mr. Jensen has been doing a lot of sighing and very little helping over the past thirty minutes.

“Mr. Jensen,” Steve echoes, half because Mr. Jensen hasn’t spoken and half because he wants to be a little shit. Mr. Jensen ignores him.

“This will be the fourth time you’re requesting to change your major in the month and a half since classes have started.”

“I’m just trying things out.” Steve shrugs. “Isn’t that what freshman year is for?”

“Business,” Mr. Jensen reads off the sheet in front of him. “Architecture. French. Last time we spoke, you told me you are interested in studying marine biology. Mr. Harrington, we don’t _have_ marine biology.”

“Dolphins are cool,” Steve says. Mr. Jensen keeps staring at him, unimpressed, so Steve makes a dolphin sound. It falls kind of flat, so he clears his throat and tries again, but Mr. Jensen interrupts him.

“Why did you leave the business school?”

“Boring.”

“Architecture?”

“I’m not what you might consider… _good_ at math.”

“French?”

“I took Spanish in high school.”

Mr. Jensen looks at him for a long time. “So what’s your bright idea this time?”

Steve had come in here with the intention of declaring nursing -- for the high female population, _obviously_ , but also because Robin’s a nursing student and he wants someone to copy off of -- but now he’s not so sure. “What do you think it should be?” he says slowly.

“Business,” says Mr. Jensen, closing the file containing Steve’s academic records. “You came in intending to study it. There must have been some sort of interest there.”

“My dad’s in business, actually,” Steve interjects. Mr. Jensen ignores him.

“You’re never going to run out of jobs with a business degree,” he continues. “A good office job gets you good money and plenty of time to get home to your wife and kids. Kid like you, charismatic or” -- he gestures noncommittally at Steve -- “whatever it is you are -- you’ll move up the chain real quick-like.”

Steve wants to tell him that his dad already has a job lined up for him after graduation at his company, but it feels wrong to support Mr. Jensen’s point of view. Mr. Jensen was the one who encouraged him to declare immediately _anyway_ , even if UIC doesn’t require it until the end of his second year, so Steve might as well milk it. Make his bed and eat it too, or however the saying goes.

“Nursing,” Steve says slowly and watches with glee as Mr. Jensen drops his forehead onto his desk.

xxx

Edgar is sitting on one of the benches outside the student services building when Steve finally gets out of his advising meeting. He doesn’t notice quickly enough to dodge him.

“Harrington!” Edgar calls, as if Steve didn’t just do a very obvious U-turn away from him, running into two girls leaving the building in the process. Steve stops and closes his eyes to steel himself and when he turns around, Edgar is grinning at him, leather satchel hanging off his shoulder. 

“Edgar.” Steve has to physically restrain his tired sigh. “Look, man, I got somewhere to be--”

“I’ll walk with you!” he says. Steve stands there dumbly, trying to think of what’s most believable, and heads south. “How are classes going?”

“Great.” Steve has no intention of trying to hold up his end of the conversation, because he knows where this is going. Edgar doesn’t _actually_ give a shit about his classes; he just wants an excuse to talk about -- 

“Robin’s got a concert coming up, right?” When Steve gives only a _mmm_ in response, he barrels on, undeterred. “I was thinking, maybe we can go together. Music’s better with good company, right? I wanted to ask -- I was going to stop at Dominick’s on the way there and pick up some flowers, but I don’t know what she likes. And I don’t want to send her into anaphylaxis, you know?” He laughs his nervous, Robin-induced titter.

“She’s not allergic to anything,” Steve says. The green at the crosswalk is about to turn red, so he jogs to beat it; he wants to kill two birds with one stone and ditch Edgar, too, but no dice.

“Great!” He pants a little bit trying to keep up with Steve, even though he’s not at all out of shape and Steve’s not going very fast. Edgar is, all things considered, a pretty good-looking guy. Smart, from a wealthy family. Wears well-fitted suits no matter the weather. If Robin swung that way, maybe Steve would push it a bit, barring the fact that Edgar is potentially the most annoying person Steve has ever encountered and he does weird things like hang around outside of buildings at a school he doesn’t go to, waiting for Steve to get out of a meeting, which he should have _no way of knowing about_. He can’t take a hint either, no matter how many times Steve tries to press that he isn’t Robin’s type. “I’ll get her some lilies -- who doesn’t like lilies? -- and maybe some chocolates, too--”

Steve stops in the middle of the sidewalk so suddenly that Edgar runs into the back of him. A middle-aged guy wearing a stained Burger King uniform pushes past, muttering something under his breath.

“Ed,” he says, reaching out and gripping him by the shoulders. Edgar looks absolutely thrilled at the nickname. “Buddy, she’s not into you. You gotta let it go.”

A crease appears between his eyebrows. “I thought you two weren’t together?”

Steve shakes him a little bit, which is a big compromise on headbutting him in the face out of pure exasperation. “We’re not the only two people in the world, man. Out of the five million people in the world--”

“--five billon--”

“--it’s actually statistically probable that she would like someone that isn’t either of us.” He’s a little proud of coming up with _statistically probable_. Maybe he did learn something in those business classes after all.

“Doctors are _pricks_ , Harrington.” Steve lets him go and keeps walking, trying to go a little bit faster. Chicago is not nearly crowded enough at two in the afternoon to make losing someone easy. “You’re going to let her end up with a _doctor_? I’m going to be a lawyer. I’m going to one of the _best_ law schools _in the country_.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the weird things,” Steve says over his shoulder, “that you’re going to haul ass from Streeterville just to harass me.”

“ _Harass_?” Now Edgar is moving faster, trying to look into Steve’s face while also not running face-first into people going in the opposite direction. A thin layer of sweat is glistening on his forehead even though it’s not even seventy degrees. “Steve, brother, I’m just trying to get some help here. Come on! Help a guy out.”

“I can’t _force her_ to date you.” Steve seizes the opportunity to dart around a woman pushing a baby stroller full of Chihuahuas and creates some normal-person distance between him and Edgar. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last very long.

“But you’re her roommate,” he argues. He’s starting to pant again. “You can still, you know. Put in a good word, or whatever.”

This time, Steve grabs Edgar by the arm and pulls him out from the middle of foot traffic and into the doorway of a shoe repair shop. “Put in a good word,” Steve repeats. Edgar nods eagerly. “I’m not going to put in a good word for someone who _stalks_ me, trying to get me to hook him up with a girl he met two months ago at a party at a college _he doesn’t even go to_.”

“My brother goes here,” Edgar protests. His ears are beginning to turn red.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Steve says. It comes out sounding way more like Hopper than he’d like, all breathy sarcasm. “Fact remains that the only person you seem to want to hang around with is me, in order to get into Robin’s pants.” Edgar opens his mouth to argue, but Steve holds up a hand and squeezes his eyes shut. “Look, man,” he sighs. “You need to stop waiting outside of buildings for me. How did you even know I went to student services?”

“I saw you go in,” Edgar says sheepishly.

“See, that’s fucking weird,” Steve continues, keeping his tone as conversational as possible. The fact that he hasn’t punched Edgar out by this point just goes to show how much he’s grown since high school. “You’re committing the cardinal sin against women, all right? Don’t fuck around with the best friend.”

Steve regrets it the second it leaves his mouth because of the way Edgar’s face absolutely lights up.

“Fuck me,” he says in the same moment Edgar goes, “You’re right, I’ve been approaching this _totally_ the wrong way. Steve, buddy, let me buy you dinner. What do you say? _Come on_ , just two guys, out on the town.” Edgar shimmies his shoulders in what he clearly thinks is very hip. It is decidedly not.

“I gotta go,” Steve says. He has officially run out of ideas. When Edgar takes a step with him, Steve points at him and says, voice firm like he’s talking to a dog, “No fucking around. All right?” 

“Another time, then!” he says, nodding enthusiastically. Steve flips the collar of his shirt up like it’s going to prevent anyone associating him with Edgar. “See you later, man, looking forward to hanging out!”

xxx

Robin is sitting at the kitchen table scribbling madly into a notebook when he gets home. There are three textbooks open around her and Steve is secretly sort of relieved that Mr. Jensen didn’t sign his change of major form for nursing. Still, part of him wonders if getting a girlfriend will ease some of the persistent feelings of nothingness that sit in the center of his chest. He’s been having a hard time connecting to people, and the only reason is because he didn’t almost _die_ next to any of them. He should be proud of that, not letting it spread beyond Hawkins. But that doesn’t change the fact that everything feels soul-crushingly trivial after battling monsters for the past three years.

Robin looks up when he comes in. “Did you get me tampons?” she asks, not bothering to say hello. He kicks the door closed behind him and drops all of the Dominick’s bags onto the counter by the fridge. He digs around in one of them to toss her the box, which she catches and turns over in her hands to inspect.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says before she can even open her mouth. “Regular flow, no deodorant.”

She gives him a big, over-the-top smile, and blows him a kiss. “Thanks, gorgeous.”

Steve mimes catching it and swooning, leaning his weight against the counter a little bit for the effect. “I also got some chicken for tonight; milk, bread, a bag of M&Ms -- oh, and assaulted by your boyfriend.”

“Oh, fuck,” she groans, dropping her head down onto the table.

“If he didn’t constantly change the conversation topic to you, I’d think he was trying to get a piece of _this_.” He bends at the waist to put the carton of milk in the fridge door and shakes his ass, tilting his hips to the side to avoid the pencil she throws at him. “Seriously, you sure you don’t want to be my girlfriend?”

“While I’m sure King Steve is _extremely_ romantic, I’m going to say hard pass.”

Steve scoffs. “I have a lot to offer, you know.”

“Body odor,” she says, ticking items off on her fingers. “ _Very_ loud snoring. A weirdly complete collection of those Olivia Newton-John music video pornfests--”

“--she’s a good singer, all right?”

“--with the cover art all _extremely tattered_.” She watches him slide the chicken breast on top of the egg carton. They both know it’s going to sit in the fridge for a week before Robin throws it away, because this happens every time he decides to be a little optimistic about getting his life on track. “It’s the principle, Steve. I shouldn’t have to be someone’s girlfriend to get creeps like him to leave me alone.”

“Yeah, feminism, I know, I get it.” He takes a carton of orange juice out of the fridge to sniff, makes a face, and pours it down the drain. “I was thinking, maybe I should start going to those meetings with you. You know, get out, meet some new people.”

“Hmm,” she says. “You know that stereotype that all feminists are lesbians?”

“Yeah.” She bites her bottom lip and they stare at each other. “Look, I’m not an idiot, I don’t actually think _all feminists_ are lesbians.”

“Steve.” She watches him take a sip of the pop he left on the counter last night. It’s very flat. “It’s literally a lesbian club. We just say it’s for feminists so guys don’t come.”

Steve chokes a little as the pop goes down the wrong pipe. “Right,” he says, beating his chest with his fist to clear some of the prickliness. “Okay. Noted.”

xxx

“Motherfucker,” Steve hisses. It’s four in the morning and the vents are pumping frigid air out into the apartment. He doesn’t know how Robin is able to sleep through this, but her door remains closed, even as he continues to swear at the thermostat. It’s turned all the way down to fifty and won’t budge no matter how much he swivels the knob. “Piece of shit.”

He gives it one last bang before letting himself into Robin’s room. She’s face-down in the middle of the bed and he shoves her over so he can slide under the quilt too.

“Hnngg,” she says.

“The fucking thermostat is broken,” he whispers. He pulls his knees up to his chest so he can put his cold feet against her bare leg.

“Steve!” she yells, trying to curl her body away from him. Unfortunately for her, though, Steve has just spent the last four hours laying underneath a vent in just his boxers; there’s a lot of cold skin to push up against her. “Steve, I’m going to _fucking kill you_.”

“One time a few winters ago, Dustin asked me if we could share body heat to keep warm,” he tells her. Fuzzy from sleep and the weed they smoked before bed, she tries to wrap herself in the quilt. She only succeeds in getting tangled, since most of the blanket is clamped under Steve’s arm. “I thought he was full of shit, but I am goddamn _cold_.”

“I was sleepin’,” she whines from somewhere under the pillows. Now that he’s stopped harassing her, he realizes that her bedroom is warm. After a moment, she untangles herself and throws the quilt and her left leg over him. “Hand me my hot water bottle,” she says into his shoulder. Her hair is sticking up in all different directions.

“It’s not going to be warm anymore,” he tells her, but leans over to fish it off the floor anyway. “Yeah, look, it’s room temperature. This isn’t going to do shit.”

She’s asleep again by the time he sits back up, so he lays down beside her and blows air out of his mouth as noisily as possible. He falls asleep with the hot water bottle clutched to his chest, her teddy bear squashed under his head like a pillow.

xxx

He calls their landlord the next morning to come and take a look at the thermostat and the vents in his bedroom, and by the time he gets home from class, there are two repairmen peering into the ceiling above his bed. Steve hovers in the doorway until they pass him to fiddle with the thermostat in the hallway.

“Kid,” one of them says, “we’ll let you know if we need you, a’ight?”

Steve wants to argue, but wants them to fix the problem even more, so he goes to sit in the living room and smoke a cigarette out the window. By the time they come to find him, he’s read the funnies in the newspaper three times and folded the obituaries into what’s either a swan or a pile of scrunched paper depending on levels of optimism.

“Couldn’t find nothin’,” says the one who’d told him to fuck off. “We adjusted some settings on the thermostat to see. Call us if that don’t fix it.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, shoving a few bills into the guy’s hand and shuts the door behind them. When he goes into his bedroom, cold air is still blowing out of the vent; worse, it might actually be coming out a bit harder. “Fuuuck,” he whispers. He runs a hand through his hair and exhales loudly, looking around the room like it’s going to give him some answers. 

That night, he tries opening the window to let in the cool October air, then fishes some sweaters out from the back of his closet. When that doesn’t make his room any better, he goes into Robin’s room and steals the hot water bottle she has on her stomach so he can put it between his feet.

xxx

Robin comes home after class with a rental of _The Breakfast Club_ , so Steve orders a pizza and makes popcorn on the stove while she’s in the shower. They split the last beer in the fridge between two coffee mugs and Steve sits watching Robin roll a joint while they wait for their pizza.

“Molly Ringwald is so pretty,” Robin says. She licks the paper to seal it, then lights it and takes a deep drag. “I thought I was going to have to, like, touch myself in the theater during that scene – you know, where she puts the lipstick on with her boobs?” She blows smoke in Steve’s face and hands it over. “She is my dream woman.”

“Have you ever kissed a guy?” Steve asks, stopping halfway through the sentence to try to blow a smoke ring. He can’t.

“Yeah,” she says. “Scott Rietts, fifth grade.” The doorbell rings and Steve gets up to get the pizza. Robin goes into the kitchen to get napkins and comes back into the living room holding black nail polish too. She kicks her feet up onto the coffee table and paints a quick layer before leaning over to grab a slice. “Have you?”

“Have I what,” Steve says, mouth full.

“Kissed a guy.”

“Of course not.”

“ _Of course not_ ,” she repeats, then rolls her eyes. “Have you ever kissed a girl?”

He looks at her for a minute. “Okay, point taken.”

“Thank you.” They watch the first few minutes of the movie before she asks again. “You never answered my question. You. Boys. _You_ decided to live with a lesbian, Steve. All gay people want to talk about is being gay. So: _answer_.”

“I did answer your question,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “No, I haven’t.”

“Have you ever wanted to?” Steve turns to look at her and she just looks back at him, eyes big and innocent, pizza sauce smeared across one cheek. “Or, like. Thought about it?”

“No,” he says. It’s a half-truth. After Robin told him about Tammy Thompson, he did think about it, on some level, sometimes. Thirty people were dead, including Hopper, and he and the kids watched Billy Hargrove _die_ , so thinking about anything that didn’t edge him along a panic attack was fair game. It was more _thinking about_ thinking about kissing men, like -- Will liked boys, probably, but how old was he when he figured it out? Did he wake up one day and know that’s what he wanted? Steve has kissed a lot of girls and doesn’t see any reason that needs to change. Besides, he knows about as many girls as he knows guys here, so it’s not like the odds are any better.

“Not even Tommy H?”

“Gross.” Steve can’t help but grimace. “No way.”

“Hmm,” she says. He spends the next twenty minutes thinking about what _hmm_ means.

“I’ve only met one, uh.” He gestures sort of vaguely while Robin tears her eyes away from the screen. She’s definitely buzzing. “Jared Adkins from study hall. He was a -- fag, fairy, whatever you want to call them.”

She rolls her eyes. “Gay people, Steve.”

“Gay people,” he repeats. “Sorry.”

“You’ve met more than one.” She arches an eyebrow at him and he plays stupid for a bit, squinting back in fake confusion. Then he slaps his palm against his forehead.

“Will Byers,” he says. “I knew I’d met another one.”

“You’re such an asshole.” She grabs onto the pillow he’s sitting on and shoves him with her shoulder until he shifts off of it. “You better not have farted on this.”

“I’ve farted on every pillow in this house,” he says. “Yeah, I don’t know. It’s not really something guys think about. Kissing other guys, I mean.” Two girls together -- great, sexy. Awesome. Except Robin, obviously. Two guys together -- absolutely uncharted territory. Tommy told him when they were kids how two guys have sex and Steve thought he made it up for probably a decade before he heard someone else make a joke about it. _Anal_ , like some guy is actually going to like putting his dick up some other guy’s ass. That doesn’t even make _sense_.

“False,” she says. “There are plenty of guys who want to kiss other guys, just like there are plenty of girls who want to kiss other girls.” She makes a popping sound with her mouth and points to herself.

“Yeah, but you’re…” He makes another vague gesture with his hand while she stares at him expectantly. “I don’t know, you’re you. You can like girls, whatever.”

“And you can’t like guys?”

“I don’t like guys.” Steve doesn’t even remember how they got on this topic in the first place and doesn’t understand above all else why the conversation is still going on.

“Would you rather,” she starts. He drops his head back and groans at the ceiling. “ _Would you rather.”_

“Would I rather _what_.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” She taps her fingers against her knee for a minute. “Okay, would you rather kiss Emilio Estevez or Judd Nelson.” She points at the TV. “Andrew or Bender.”

“I know who Emilio Estevez and Judd Nelson are,” he says back, feeling suddenly defensive. “I don’t know.”

“You have to choose,” she says.

“ _Fine. God._ ” He watches the movie for a minute, entirely lost because of how much they’ve missed. It’s been a while since he’s seen this movie. He looks at Emilio Estevez’s muscles and his hands, maybe, and then his mouth. Is that what he should be looking at? And then Judd Nelson’s mouth, because that’s probably more important than muscles or hands in kissing, if it’s just going to be kissing. “Fuck, I don’t know. Emilio Estevez.”

“Interesting,” she says.

“Fuck you and your _interesting_. Who would _you_ pick?”

“Bender, no duh.” That makes Steve laugh, which throws Robin into giggles as well.

“What do you mean, _no duh_?” he says.

“Look at him!” She points at the TV. “His fashion is choice as fuck. Fingerless gloves? Sign me up. The flannel? He is a lesbian icon, Steve. Not counting the part where he’s a perv.”

“Did you see Andrew smoke the fucking joint?” Steve shouts. He cannot believe he’s about to argue with Robin about which guy would be better to make out with. “Tell me that mouth doesn’t know what it’s doing. _Tell me that, Robin_.”

“See, Andrew kisses Ally Sheedy at the end, and it’s all soft and romantic,” Robin says. “But his dad thinks he’s worthless, or whatever his sob story is, so I think with a guy -- with a guy I think he’d be rougher, right. Prove that he’s strong and sexy.”

“And how is that not better than kissing Bender?”

“Okay, but Bender is confident. He _knows_ he’s good at kissing, right?”

“This is the fucking weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” Steve says. He wishes they had another joint, or at least more beer. “Okay, all right, my turn. Molly Ringwald or Ally Sheedy? Wait, no, I know the answer to that one. Shut up. Ally Sheedy or, or, Olivia Newton-John.”

“You and your thing for Olivia Newton-John,” Robin says. “I’m gonna go with Ally Sheedy. I feel like Allison would go fucking nuts on you. Like, she’d be _so_ down for all your kinky shit.”

“Olivia Newton-John is the _epitome_ of sexy,” Steve shoots back. “She goes from Sandy to _that_?”

“I have an idea,” Robin says suddenly. She goes into her room and emerges with her 1984-1985 yearbook. The year Steve graduated. The year Starcourt opened. “Okay, all right.” She climbs over him as obnoxiously as possible and plants herself back in her spot, already flipping through the pages. Steve digs the remote out from between the seat cushions and pauses the movie so they don’t have to rewind the whole tape to watch what they missed.

“Why do you even have that?” he laughs, shifting over so he can look over her shoulder. Nancy had done so much work for this one. He misses her, just for a second, and misses his small town. It dissipates when she flips to his grade and he remembers how shit high school actually was. “God, so many of these people suck.”

“I genuinely thought you were going to peak in high school.” 

“That’s so sweet of you.”

She skims her finger down the list of names to _H_ , then points at his picture. Steve laughs at the devil horns she’d drawn on him, a forked tail coming up from behind. There’s a Sharpie frown covering his awkward smile and red scribble over his eyes.

“You were not kidding,” he says, touching the photo, lost for a moment in the feeling of who he was back then. Before the mall. Before Robin. His biggest concerns were his heartbreak over Nancy and trying not to shit himself every time he saw a shadow on the wall. It feels like another lifetime.

“Okay, so. Tommy H or… Alec. He was in band with me.” She points to someone that Steve had literally never seen before in his life.

“Eww,” Steve says. “Tommy H is out on principle. I guess Alec’s our guy.”

“Good choice.” She flips back to the juniors and runs her fingers over their pictures, choosing her next targets.

“Hey,” Steve says. He points at Billy Hargrove’s picture before really thinking about it and his stomach drops, the image of Billy’s death bubbling up just briefly. He can see Max and El covered in black blood, fighting with Nancy and Jonathan as they try to drag them away from Billy’s body. In his yearbook picture, Billy’s winking at the camera, tongue out, all gross confidence and oversaturated sex appeal. There’s an X in the corner of his photo. “Why do I get the devil treatment, but Billy just gets a little X?”

“Oh, he sucked ass,” she says, though she sounds a little hesitant saying it. “Like, he was the worst. But I figured, you know -- all that confidence, all that grandiose -- he was definitely compensating for _something_.”

“A small dick,” Steve says, even though he’d seen Billy’s dick in the locker room a couple hundred times and doesn’t remember it being particularly oddly proportioned or anything. He does remember that Billy always seemed to have a semi, mostly because Billy always made a show of it, especially if he had any fresh bite marks or bruises on his thighs.

Robin clicks her tongue and hits him in the shoulder. “No, dingus. He definitely wanted to suck some major dick.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says, but it sits weird in his stomach anyway. “He hooked up with all the girls at Hawkins High. _And_ their moms.”

“You can like both men _and_ women,” she says, flicking him in the ear. “All I’m saying is, from the perspective of a lesbian, nobody without secrets overcompensates half as much as he did, and his dad hitting him wasn’t really that much of a secret.”

They look at his picture quietly for a while. Billy being gay would have colored all his interactions with Steve _completely_ differently -- Billy up against his back in basketball, way closer than he had any right to be, hands grabbing and lingering -- all the times Steve thought he was just hovering to be annoying, when he would grab the shower next to Steve’s and palm himself, winking whenever Steve would finally notice --

“Anyway,” Robin says suddenly. It feels like all of the air returns to the room and Steve shakes off those thoughts, and the thoughts about Starcourt, too. Robin takes a deep breath and flips to the next page. She picks out two guys at random and tells him to choose.

xxx

Unsurprisingly, he dreams of Billy that night.

It’s nothing tangible. Pieces of him -- his hand, curled over his knee; his chest, heaving as he runs through town; his hair tucked behind his ear, curls golden in the sun. It feels feverish after a while as the images begin to spin.

Billy laying spread-eagle on the ground, covered in black blood, a hole through his chest. Then he’s gasping for air, clutching at the leaves and weeds littering the forest floor. Sweat from his forehead dripping down onto splintering hardwood, his body rising and falling with each push-up.

Billy in his Camaro, bloodied and slumped against the driver’s door. It feels familiar, too familiar, even as Billy begins coughing up blood and bile, letting it dribble down onto his jacket.

Billy’s face -- close, too close, and --

Steve wakes up suddenly, completely drenched in sweat. His heart is pounding and his dick is half-hard like he’s been rubbing up against the sheets. He feels sick, the image of Billy’s death still burned onto the back of his eyelids.

He wrenches himself out of bed and stumbles across the hall into the bathroom, where he sits under the lukewarm spray of the shower for a while, shaking. He hasn’t thought about that night in so long. He feels hollowed out and paralyzed like he did whenever he’d look at the pool after Barb died. 

He didn’t talk to Max at all after that night, so he didn’t think about Billy much other than the occasional nightmare. It’s not like when Will calls and memories of Hop’s funeral flood to the surface. Becky Jenkins from his fifth period English class had died, and so had Ruth Grant’s dad, but they were far enough removed that his stomach didn’t lurch at the memory of them. He didn’t love them like he loved Hopper, and he hadn’t watched them die.

He throws up, then turns off the shower and sits there long enough that the water on his skin dries. He’s tired and dizzy and is scared of closing his eyes.

Robin’s alarm goes off in the next room and he waits until he hears her stumbling into the wall and swearing before he gets himself up. When he opens the door, towel tied around his waist over his soaked boxers, she’s just coming out of her bedroom.

“You’re up early,” she slurs, wearing a nightdress over her jeans. The front of the dress is tucked into her waistband. On a normal morning, he would be ribbing her about it. “It’s Wednesday, you don’t have class ‘til late.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I’m, uh. I’m going back to bed. Bathroom’s all yours.”

“Mmm,” she says, accidentally leaning her entire body weight on him on her way into the bathroom. He stands in the hallway for a while listening to her brush her teeth. He wonders if it would be too early to call Dustin.

xxx

Steve skips his afternoon class but goes to the library after to find Christopher and bother him for his notes. He stops at Al’s on the way there and gets two Italian beef sandwiches and a shit ton of napkins.

“ _Ughh_ ,” Christopher sighs, letting his head fall back, when he sees Steve coming down the aisle. He’s in his usual study spot, a table that looks just like every other table and doesn’t seem to have any distinctive characteristics. The only reason Steve knows it’s the same table at all is because Christopher calls it _my table_. “To what do I owe this extraordinary pleasure?”

Steve drops one of the sandwiches in front of Christopher and spins one of the chairs around so he can sit on it backwards. “I need your notes.”

“Which notes?” Christopher shoves his things out of the way so he doesn’t get juice from the sandwich on any of his notebooks before unwrapping it, making a big show of wafting the smell up to his face. “Thank you, man. Seriously. I was going to lose my mind if I had to look at that problem set another minute.”

“That’s for calc, isn’t it,” he says, not even bothering to make it a question. When Christopher nods, Steve pulls a notebook out of his own bag and sets it on the table. “Well, you’re looking at your brand-new classmate, so let’s get to it.”

“You’re back in business?” Christopher asks. He wipes his mouth and fingers every time he takes a bite of his sandwich. Maybe it’s the neatness and the level-headedness, or the deep, calm voice, but Steve is _constantly_ thrown by the fact that Christopher isn’t way older than him.

He’s cool and self-assured, but still the type that high school Steve would have targeted for wedgies or some other stupid shit. Whenever he watches Christopher obsess over keeping his hands clean, he knows _exactly_ what he would have said to him in high school. Now, though, he kind of looks up to him. “What happened to… uhhh.” He snaps his fingers.

“French,” Steve supplies.

“French.” Christopher nods. “Right, right. Not for you?”

“My parents spend too much time in France,” Steve says, cheek bulging with gravy-soaked bread. “UIC’s gonna want me to go over there for exchange or something and I’m going to run into my _parents_.” Steve scoots his chair back a little so he can lean it forward onto two legs, chest still pressed against its back. “Plus, none of the girls were into me.”

“Ahh.” Christopher balls up the empty sandwich wrapper and puts it in the corner of the desk, then wipes his hands a few more times before pulling out his notebook again. “Well, sorry to tell you, but there aren’t many girls in business, either.”

“I know.” A piece of his hair is falling out of place and he tries to blow it back. When that doesn’t work, he runs a greasy hand over it. It stays down. “The career counselor told me I should stick with it because it has the best payout or whatever.”

“But you don’t care about it,” Christopher says, “which is why you changed majors in the first place.”

“Yeah. I don’t know, it just seems…” Steve cuts himself off, grimacing. It seems trivial. All of it. _All of it._ A year and a half ago, he and Robin were being tortured by Russians. A year and a half ago, they were running from whatever the _fuck_ had Billy Hargrove. And before that, the demodogs, and before _that_ , the demogorgons. All the way back to him standing in Jonathan Byers’ house with a bat full of nails, trying to track something he couldn’t even see. That shouldn’t even exist. It’s hard to come back from that. From a quarter of the kids he graduated with dying all in one night. From his girlfriend’s best friend dying in his pool while they were upstairs, oblivious. It’s just not something that goes away.

He didn’t even really see the point of going to college, but Robin was leaving, and he needed to get out of Hawkins so he would stop seeing ghosts. She wanted to do nursing because she was good under pressure and because it felt good to be _doing_ something. Nancy is at the Medill School of Journalism and Jonathan is studying fucking _photography_ at Columbia College. They all see some sort of purpose in what they’re doing, while Steve feels like he’s just going through the motions. He doesn’t care, not about any of it. He’s had a hard time caring about anything at all in what feels like forever.

“I don’t want to be my dad,” he says eventually. He doesn’t doubt that Christopher would be understanding about what he’s struggling with, but there’s so much context required to truly _get it_ , and he’s not interested in losing Christopher as a friend or in being admitted to an asylum. “I don’t know. Suits and briefcases? Bringing home boxes of papers to stare at while you drink whiskey so you don’t have to watch your wife pop some benzos while she waits for the lasagna to finish cooking?” Christopher blinks at him, looking completely impassive, which Steve is thankful for because, fuck, out of all the trauma he’s endured the past several years, his fucked-up parents rank pretty damn low. “I just don’t want to be a sellout, you know?”

“You shouldn’t waste your time doing something you’re going to regret,” Christopher says. “Business isn’t just being an auditor or a pencil-pusher, though. You can own a business, sell real estate. You can work in law firms and help people get what they need to survive.”

Steve’s stomach twists unpleasantly as he imagines himself doing any of that. It still feels like wearing a suit with a too-tight tie and getting yelled at by some asshole about something that doesn’t matter. Besides, he wouldn’t be actually helping anyone. He’d be lining the pockets of _other_ assholes, and none of them would have ever had to watch someone die. The more he thinks about it, the more his palms start to sweat.

He lets the chair legs drop to the ground. “Whatever,” he says, shaking his head a little bit to try and dislodge those mental images. “I’ll figure it out. Gimme your notes so I can copy them.”

Christopher looks at him for a moment before handing over his notebook. “I can help you with the earlier problem sets if you need,” he says. “We’re reviewing derivatives right now, so we’re farther ahead. Page eighty, I think, we did that today.”

Steve diligently copies the notes, taking in absolutely none of the content, for the rest of the afternoon. 

xxx

They’re standing on the pier together looking out over the ocean, watching the sun starting to dip below the horizon. Billy is standing close enough that their bare arms are pressed together, the water cooling on their skin in the warmth. Billy’s arm is pink, looks even pinker next to the deep brown of Steve’s bicep, and he smells like cloves from the kretek he’s smoking. Their surfboards are on the dock behind them and Steve’s skin is tight from the sun and salt. He feels weightless.

“Looked good out there today,” Billy says. When Steve turns to look at him, he winks. “Shredded the fuck outta that wave.”

“I learn from the best.” Billy bumps his shoulder and laughs, rolling his eyes, and his fingers tease at Steve’s wrist. 

“Ouch,” Billy says. He’s looking at Steve with a soft, open expression he’s never seen before. Nevertheless, it feels familiar. His mouth is curled into a half-smile, all teeth but no bite. “Guess Tim really is a better surfer than me, huh.”

“No _contest_ ,” Steve says, throwing his head back as dramatically as he can so Billy laughs again. He can’t get enough of it. He’s been living with a stomach full of butterflies for weeks now. Billy jostles Steve’s arm again, but this time, their palms press together, fingers entwined. Billy looks over Steve’s shoulder, chin resting there for a moment before he kisses his cheek, then his knuckles.

“I gotta get home before Neil shits himself,” he sighs. Steve lets him step away but keeps hold of his hand to pull him back in. “Cut it out,” Billy says. Their chests bump and he’s smiling. He leans up with an open mouth to meet Steve’s kiss and the edges of the dream go fuzzy.

xxx

In the weeks leading up to the fall band concert, Robin stops practicing on her trumpet and starts practicing by pacing around the apartment and making trumpet noises with her mouth. Steve tries to spend as little time as possible at the apartment, which means he spends a lot of time sleeping with his head down on Christopher’s table in the library.

The morning of her concert, Robin wakes him up by jumping onto his bed and jabbing her fingers into his stomach and sides.

“Today’s the day!” she yells. Steve is able to roll over just enough to see his alarm clock; it’s 6:15am. Unfortunately, rolling over exposes his soft underbelly and he lets out a pained _oof_ as her knee digs into his stomach. “This time tomorrow, I’ll be _done_. I’ll be done with my _first college concert_ and I will have taken _nine_ shots to celebrate just how much I am fucking _over it!_ ” She emphasizes the last three syllables by slapping Steve’s ass.

“You break it, you buy it, demon spawn,” he shouts, clamping his pillow over his head and pushing his hips back to try and deter her.

“It’s already got a crack in it,” she says in the most obnoxious voice she can muster, then karate chops him and leaps off the bed.

“ _Get out of my room_ ,” Steve yells. When he rolls onto his back again, she’s sniffing the armpits of one of the tee shirts laying on the floor. She apparently decides it’s clean enough because she pulls it on over her dress and leaves, closing the door as quietly as possible behind her. Steve sighs and shifts around, trying to get comfortable. Once he’s just about to fall back to sleep, she screams, “TODAY’S THE DAY!” and slides down the hallway in her socks straight into the wall.

xxx

He and Billy are on the edge of the pier, their feet dangling down into the water, their ankles occasionally brushing against each other. Steve’s legs are an even deeper brown from the sun and the water shimmers against his calf muscles. Billy is playing the best of Buddy Holly on the harmonica and they can’t see anyone for miles along the coast.

Steve starts humming along and Billy’s smile grows wider and wider until he’s grinning too much to play. He looks young and tan and happy and Steve can’t help but reach over to tug a lock of hair behind Billy’s ear.

“You trying to get fresh, Shaw?” Billy quips. The harmonica sits on the pier between them and Billy melts his palm against Steve’s knee. Steve just looks at him: his eyes, his mouth. The color of his hair in the sun. The earring in his ear, brand new from one of the vendors along the boardwalk.

“So what if I am?” Steve says. He gets lost in the line of Billy’s throat when he throws his head back in a laugh.

xxx

Edgar is waiting outside of the theater by the time Steve gets there. He’s wearing a tux and holding flowers and Steve, in an Old Navy tee shirt and sweatpants, wishes he felt more embarrassed about his outfit, but he can’t with Edgar standing there looking so stupid. There’s also no way to get into the theater without being seen by him.

“Harrington!” He brandishes the bouquet of lilies, almost smacking someone’s mom in the head with it. “Great to see you here. Love the casual look.” He sounds absolutely genuine about it, which might be worse than sarcasm. 

“Edgar, why are you wearing that?” Steve asks, groaning when Edgar clamps an arm around his shoulders to herd him into the building.

“An elegant affair calls for elegant attire,” he says, puffing his chest out like he does when he’s trying to seem cooler than he actually is. He’s using his most pompous voice today, clearly feeling what he’s wearing _way_ too much. When they get to their seats, one of the guys who was in Steve’s architecture seminar leans down to snort coke off the arm of his chair with a rolled-up Starburst wrapper.

“She’s not gonna go out with you,” Steve says. He feels like a broken record.

“Who? _Robin_?” He laughs like the mere thought that he would be interested in her amuses him. “I’m here to see you, buddy, what did I say? Two guys out on the town.” He nudges Steve in the shoulder, grinning like he’s waiting for Steve to react. When he doesn’t, Edgar just continues on, undeterred. “Traffic was awful getting over here. Every time, I ask myself why I bother driving through the Loop. Who does that, right? Right?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve says, and breathes out _thank god_ as the lights in the auditorium dim. He draws a cross over himself as extra insurance, but he wasn’t raised Catholic, so his prayer might have ended up looking more star shaped. Edgar guffaws for reasons Steve doesn’t understand. “Sit _down_ ,” he hisses, even though Edgar is already sitting down. It’s moments like this when he really, really misses the freaks.

Edgar sits on the edge of his seat the entirety of the concert and stands to whistle with his fingers at the end of the show. He’s the only one standing and the only one making _so much noise_ , and Steve tries to sink down deeper into his chair so people don’t think they’re here together.

“Great job!” he yells and reaches down to jostle Steve. “Come on, come on! That’s our girl!” He lets out one more whistle and someone a few rows up throws a water bottle at him.

They wait outside the building for Robin to come out; when she does, she’s wearing her biggest, fakest, Scoops Ahoy smile. Her makeup is ruined from sweating underneath the lights for so long.

“Edgar!” she says, the same way she used to say _Dan!_ whenever their boss would come into the store. “I didn’t think you would actually come!” 

“Your performance was simply smashing,” he drawls, falling halfway into a posh British accent for reasons beyond Steve’s comprehension.

“Oh my God,” Steve says. He covers his face with one of his hands and prays he never crashed and burned quite this badly when he worked at Starcourt. Edgar does a pretentious half-bow and presents -- _presents_ \-- the flowers to Robin. 

“Ohh,” she says, “daisies!”

“ _Lilies_ ,” Steve coughs over her shoulder.

“Lilies!” she says, voice still shrill. Edgar either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Wow, Edgar, you really didn’t have to. Really.”

“My pleasure,” he says, beaming.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” Steve says, “but I figured you might need this after the concert.” He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a flask. Her eyes widen immediately. “This thing wouldn’t fit all nine, but the first few shots are on me.”

“I love you,” she says, trading him the flowers for the flask and unscrewing the top. She takes a long drink, makes a face, and exhales loudly. “God, I needed that.”

Drew Guzman, one of Robin’s friends from class, comes up, grinning. Steve zeroes in on the hand he brushes against her elbow, light enough that the intention is crystal clear. Edgar sees it too.

“Hey, guys,” Drew says, giving Steve a fist bump. Steve likes him. He always brings good beer when he comes over to study. “Robin, did you still want to go out with us?”

“Oh,” she says. “Steve, can you put those in a vase for me? I’m gonna go out with the band kids and celebrate.”

“Of course,” Steve says.

“We’re orchestra kids now,” Drew says, smiling and bumping Robin’s shoulder with his arm. Robin blinks at Steve and her right eye twitches like she’s trying not to roll it.

“I’ll probably be home late,” she says, then goes up on tiptoe and whispers, “Beth Adams is coming out with us.” When she pulls back, her cheeks are pink. Edgar and Drew both lean in slightly, like they’re expecting her to loop them in on the secret. 

“Well, have fun, you… crazy kids.” Steve smiles but has a feeling that it comes out looking really dorky.

“You’re friends with Christopher Alvillar, right? We might hit his place later,” Drew says, “in case you want to come out and join us.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to make it. Thanks, man.”

He and Edgar watch them walk away. Edgar is noticeably droopier.

“Well,” Steve says, trying to think of the best way to not have to deal with this. He claps Edgar on the shoulder. “See you later.”

“What does he have that I don’t?” Edgar moans. Steve sighs. He’s barely taken a step away.

“Sorry, man. Look, I’m sure there’s somewhere out there for you, right? World’s big. A trillion people.”

“Five billion,” Edgar corrects, his face buried in his hands.

“Five billion people,” Steve says. There’s something in the set of Edgar’s shoulders that reminds him of the first time he saw Nancy with Jonathan after they broke up. He hates that Edgar is him in this scenario. “You can’t give up hope, man. Just put that hope into something else.”

He cuffs Edgar in the shoulder and books it across the street before he gets sucked back in.

xxx

He makes it to Christopher’s place a little past midnight and is unsurprised that the place is packed; Christopher and his girlfriend throw great parties and neither of them have ever met a stranger. Steve sees Robin leaning against the wall outside of the kitchen talking to a girl that is _not_ Beth Adams. She has big, curly hair and he heads their way just to bump Robin’s shoulder and take her beer.

“Asshole!” she yells after him, but pinches his cheek when he circles back with a fresh one. “This is Clara,” she says. “She’s Drew’s older sister. Clara, this is my dingus, Steve.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clara says. Steve can’t decide if he should nod, shake her hand, or do some sort of weird army salute, so he does a combination of the three and has absolutely no concept of what it looks like.

“God, you’re embarrassing,” Robin says. It’s exactly the effect he was hoping it would have. “Wendy was looking for you earlier. She said to tell you to go find her if you showed up.”

“Message received,” Steve says.

“Please leave,” Robin tells him.

He finds Wendy in the living room sitting on the arm of the couch and talking to a group of girls. She’s half-leaning back against Christopher and he jostles her when he sees Steve.

“Steve!” Wendy calls, cutting her conversation off mid-sentence to wave him over. Her cheeks are tipsy-pink and she looks happy and relaxed, totally in her element. Steve high fives Christopher and leans down to kiss Wendy on the cheek. “I wanted you to meet my friend Gia. Gia, this is our friend Steve.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says. Steve leans in a little closer. 

“Gia’s in my British lit class,” Wendy continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that neither of them have looked away. “She’s from Italy.”

“Hi,” Steve says dumbly. She smiles at him.

They end up talking for the rest of the night. She’s in her third year, studying to become a teacher, and had moved from Turin to Chicago with her aunt a few years ago. She has two younger brothers and can’t stand Madonna and has the same color eyes as Nancy, except brighter and flirtier.

The party shuts down around two-thirty when the neighbors start to complain. Steve walks Gia home and they end up hanging out in front of her apartment building for another hour before she goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him goodnight.

xxx

He opens his eyes to the sound of a lighter clicking and someone hissing _fuck, fuck, fuck_. Steve’s laying in a nest of pillows and blankets in the back of a Jeep, the hatch open to the fresh air and mountains. He gets out of the car to find Billy squatting down over what used to be their campfire. There’s an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Your wish is my command,” Steve says, startling Billy enough that he falls onto his ass. 

“Fuck off,” he says, but his voice has lost all its asperity. “My lighter’s out.”

Steve digs in the pocket of his jeans and throws his own onto the ground next to Billy.

“Thank fuck.” He lights up and takes a long drag before fully turning around to look up at Steve, not bothering to get up from the ground. “Have a good nap?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, stretching his arms above his head, popping out the stiffness in his back. He watches Billy’s eyes dip to his stomach when his shirt rises up. “Missed you, though. How was your swim?”

“Missed you,” he echoes. His hair pulled up and out of the way with one of Maxine’s hair ties.

“I like it,” Steve says, gesturing. Billy flushes and immediately shakes it out. “Hey, I said I liked it.”

“I didn’t want to get it wet.” It’s humped at a weird angle from being tied up for so long. Steve drops down next to him and runs his fingers through Billy’s curls, trying to get it to lay flat. He glances down to see Billy staring at him, kretek smoldering between his fingers.

“Hey,” he says softly. They’re out in the wild, nobody around for miles and miles. Steve threads his fingers into the hair at the back of Billy’s head when Billy leans in to kiss him.

“Oh, hey,” Billy says after a while, when they’ve stopped to lay in the grass and trace patterns along each other’s skin. He reaches down to dig in his pocket. Steve pushes himself up on his elbow and Billy meets him there, a shell held in his fingers. “I found this.”

It’s ridged and speckled, half pearl-white and half slate-black. Billy puts it into his outstretched palm and Steve’s chest tightens as he runs his thumb along it, feeling the silt still clinging to the inside.

“It’s us,” Billy says uncertainly after a moment.

Steve has to clench his jaw and breathe through his nose to stop himself from getting too emotional. He would start weeping right now if he knew Billy wouldn’t freak out. When he’s sure his voice isn’t going to crack, he says, “Are you trying to tell me I’m turning you Black?”

Billy laughs even though his face is bright red. “It’s stupid,” he says, breathless and self-conscious. As if he doubts for a second what Steve feels for him. “Okay, sorry, I realize now that I was being a big, stupid _girl_.”

He tries to take the shell back, but Steve doesn’t let him. He doesn’t want to; besides, Billy trying to wrestle it away from him gives them an excuse to be close again, and being close again inevitably leads to more kissing.

“You’re so sweet to me,” Steve says. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He looks at the shell again and turns it over and over in his hand. He wonders at how old the shell must be to be so far up in the mountains. Eons, maybe.

“Damian,” Billy whispers after a while. Steve, half-draped across him, tears his eyes away from the shell and looks down at him. “I love you.”

All at once, Steve’s skin feels ten times too small and ten times too big. He feels all sixteen and a half years of his life quivering inside of him. Billy is almost seventeen, only a year and some change away from being free of his dad. Then they can skip town, go somewhere else – the Castro, maybe, or out east if they want to try something new.

“I can’t wait to start my life with you,” Steve says, watching Billy’s eyes flutter closed in relief. He kisses both his eyelids, both his cheeks, and comes to a rest at his mouth.

xxx

December brings the first snow of the year followed closely by exams. Steve and Robin spend as much time as they can outside, building anatomically correct snowmen and throwing snowballs at passersby and making drunk snow angels and, above all, not studying. Christopher brings some Baileys and expensive raspberry liqueur, Wendy brings flames made from yellow and orange construction paper, and Gia brings weed. They sit on the living room floor drinking spiked hot chocolate and laughing and trying not to think about how quickly this semester has passed. The candle lit in front of the fake fireplace flickers and dances on the wall, and every so often, Steve catches it wrong out of the corner of his eye and his heart skips a beat.

Robin dislocates her shoulder the night before her exams start. She’s trying to dodge the invisible Lightsaber Steve swings at her by jumping from the couch to the coffee table, but she doesn’t quite stick the landing and slides right off. Steve has had too much weed and too much alcohol to really get what’s going on, but when she finally starts to complain about it an hour and a half later, he drives her to the hospital down the street.

The doctor sends them home with Robin’s arm in a sling and some painkillers. She waxes poetic for so long about having to be sober while she’s on the medication that Steve abstains too out of solidarity, and also so she’ll shut up. Gia comes by and paints Robin’s nails different colors to cheer her up while Steve quizzes her for her anatomy final. 

When Gia gets up to go to the bathroom, Robin waves her fingers in Steve’s face. “My hand,” she whispers, sounding just as intense as someone on painkillers would, “is literally the fucking _gay flag, Steve_. Look at these _gay fingers_.” She spends the rest of the day laying on the couch with her head in Gia’s lap, looking thrilled and staring at her fingernails.

Despite most of his brain power going into trying to teach himself game theory, or trying to sneak out of the house to go meet Gia while Robin is napping, there is still plenty of time to think about all of the things Steve doesn’t want to think about. 

The dreams, mostly. What they mean, if they mean anything at all. What it means that Steve gets hard if he thinks about the details for too long, like the color of Billy’s skin in the sun or how he tastes when he’s been smoking cloves. What it means that Steve is always the same Black man. None of it makes sense and he spends too much time going over it again and again. Sometimes, he can convince himself that it’s all a dream and that Robin put the thought of Billy being a queer in his head. _That’s_ why he’s dreaming about it, and that’s why he thinks about it sometimes when Gia is sucking him off. 

_But_ , his mind always says, there’s no way he can keep thinking that weird shit doesn’t happen, because it has and he’s lived through it. He doesn’t know what freaky things could be happening with his dreams or the people who show up or the _content_ , but it’s not out of the question, whatever it is. He would never remember so many details if it was just a dream.

xxx

Robin and Steve drive to Hawkins the morning after finals end. They break up the two-and-a-half-hour trip by stopping every once in a while to play in the snow. Neither of them are dressed for it though, so Steve keeps having to change into jeans that aren’t soaked through. People driving by have seen his ass so many times that he’s surprised nobody’s called the police yet.

Steve’s parents are in Milan for Christmas and Robin’s parents are too nervous about what might happen between him and their daughter if he were to stay over at their house, so he spends the holidays with Dustin and his mom. The three of them spend a lot of time playing Scrabble, which is _horrible_ and awkward, but anytime Dustin’s mom leaves them to finish playing, it’s actually pretty fun. 

Will, El, Nancy, and Jonathan drive down to Hawkins for New Year’s Eve and everyone sits on Dustin’s living room floor to watch the ball drop. Robin puts on her reddest lipstick in the last few seconds of the countdown so she can kiss all over Steve’s face. Nancy watches them over Jonathan’s shoulder with an expression Steve can’t quite place.

Dustin claps a hand over Will’s mouth and they pretend to make out until Mike makes a disgusted sound and shoves them apart. Steve is happy and tipsy and wishes, just for a moment, that he still lived in Hawkins so this night would never end. Being home has made him realize just how much of Dustin’s life -- of _everyone’s_ life -- he’s missing out on while he’s in Chicago.

Steve gives up trying to rub the lipstick off his face after five minutes of scrubbing when he loses sight of what is lipstick and what is irritated skin. Robin pushes into the bathroom while he’s brushing his teeth and drops onto the toilet to pee without warning him first.

“Oh, whatever,” she slurs, giggling, when he makes a rude noise at her. She tears off some toilet paper while Steve closes and locks the door so no one else comes barging in. “It’s not like you’re in any _danger_ here, King Steve. Don’t you worry that pretty little head.”

He waits until she’s standing next to him at the sink before he lets the toothpaste foam dribble out of his mouth and down his chin, then shakes his head so it gets all over her face. She shrieks and tries to hide behind the shower curtain, but immediately pulls it down with her and lands hard on the arm that has just come out of the sling.

“Oww,” she groans. Steve splashes water over his face and comes to stand over the bathtub to look down at her. “Steve,” she whispers, gathering the curtain around her as if she’s swaddling herself, and closes her eyes with a content smile once she’s settled in. “This is my home now.”

“Bathtub monster,” he says, laughing. He yells, “Dustin, there’s a monster in your bathtub!”

There are hurried steps in the hallway and then Dustin is jiggling the knob and banging on the door.

“What is it?” he yells; then, higher-pitched: “ _What is it_?”

“No,” Steve says. He takes his sweater off and throws it over Robin’s head to hide her, then opens the door on the fourth try once he realizes it’s still locked. Dustin shoots under his arm and looks around like he’s expecting to see Dart’s long-lost sister. “ _Shh_ ,” Steve stage-whispers. “It’s sleeping.”

Robin gurgles and waves her arms around, getting more tangled in Steve’s sweater and the shower curtain the more she moves. Steve has to lean back against the sink to stop himself from falling down laughing. 

“Idiots,” Dustin whispers, his exasperation reminiscent of how much shit he gave the two of them after they escaped the Russians. He slams the bathroom door behind him.

Steve leaves Robin in the bathtub and goes out to the phone in the living room. He misdials twice, but eventually, Gia picks up on the other end.

“Hello,” she says softly. Her voice sounds sexier over the phone. Steve makes a mental note to call her more often. 

“Happy New Year,” he says.

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little.”

" _Anch'io_," she says. “Me too!”

They only get to talk for a few minutes before Dustin comes into the room and actually kicks Steve in the ass. 

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, trying to shift his hips out of the kick zone. “Fuck off, you little maggot, give me a minute.”

“I should go too,” she says. She’s in Texas with her friend Natalie and Natalie’s family. “Let’s talk again tomorrow, _amore mio_.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “I love you.”

He can hear her smile through the phone. “I love you too. Get some rest, _bello_. Ciao.”

Steve collapses onto the floor and directly onto popcorn kernels, candy wrappers, and empty beer cans. His perception of time is fucked up because it feels like hours before Dustin drops down next to him with his sleeping bag, even though it can’t be more than a few minutes.

“Do you want a blanket?” Dustin asks. He wriggles down so only his head is poking out.

“No,” Steve mumbles. “Floor’s comfy.” Steve wiggles his body to emphasize his point. He may or may not doze off again, but when he opens his eyes to look at Dustin, he immediately sits bolt upright. “You’re not wearing a hat!” he says. He overbalances in the opposite direction and ends up near Dustin’s feet. Dustin tries his best to kick Steve. “Guys!” he shouts. “Dustin’s not wearing a hat!” 

“Steve, _shut up_ ,” Max says from the other side of the room.

Steve isn’t awake ten minutes later to hear Nancy’s yell of surprise when the pile in the bathtub moves.

xxx

The dreams get more intense in Hawkins. Most nights, they’re like that very first dream; just pieces of Billy. His car, the pencil he carried around school behind his ear even though Steve had never seen him actually use it. The splatter of black blood on the floor of the Starcourt Mall after his body had been taken away. The sound, sometimes, of his tennis shoes against the basketball court. The heat of him against Steve as he tries to block Steve’s shot. The steam from the locker room shower and Billy’s hand reaching down to palm himself. 

The day before he and Robin head back to Chicago, he dreams of a kitchen. It’s dark; the only light filters in through a cloudy window above the sink and a crackling lightbulb overhead. He watches the clock above the stove move forward, ticking, and two days pass while he stands there next to the refrigerator. It stops, finally, at 6pm. It’s Tuesday.

“Neil, I’m putting Max to bed,” Susan calls. Steve can hear laughter; when he turns, he catches sight of red hair as it disappears around the corner. Max is thirteen and needs to grow the hell up. Mommy can’t tuck her in forever.

“All right,” he says. He pulls a beer out of the refrigerator and goes to sit down at the table with his newspaper. He’d left his coat hanging in the hallway and his briefcase by the bedroom door so Billy would see it when he finally came out of his room. Steve feels excited anticipation bubbling in his chest.

Billy finally comes into the kitchen at 6:30, hair slicked back with water. He’s wearing a wifebeater and basketball shorts and thinks he can get himself a glass of water then scurry back down to his bedroom without a word.

“Son,” Steve says. Billy stops in the kitchen doorway but doesn’t turn around. “Come sit down for a second.” He hesitates for a beat more before he gives in and sits down. He puts his water down on the table and picks at his fingernails. Steve listens to the clock tick for several minutes before he pretends to finish the article he wasn’t reading and sighs.

“Heard an interesting story from my buddy Rick today,” he says conversationally, folding his newspaper and smoothing out the crinkles. “You remember Rick, right? My Army buddy who’s a cop now?”

Billy clears his throat and continues to avoid Steve’s gaze. “Yes, sir,” he says.

“He arrested some negro kid this afternoon.” Steve can see the way Billy’s shoulders tense up, but he doesn’t let on, because it’s _exactly_ what he wants to see. “Some beach scum. Had a ton of pot hidden under his bed, can you believe it? Oxy and coke, too. Well, he put up a real big fight. Good thing Rick is a big guy, huh? He restrained him instead of shooting him right in the head. Nice thing to do if you ask me. More than shit like that deserve, anyway.” Billy doesn’t say anything. “Isn’t that right, son?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, finally. Steve lets himself smile a little.

“Hey.” He points at Billy. “You spend a lot of time down at the beach, right? Wonder if you know him. Tall and dirty, you know, just like all of ‘em are. His name escapes me. Something with a… a D?” He clicks his fingers like he’s trying to remember.

He revels in the way Billy’s eyes slip closed. He deserves this, the little bitch.

“Oh!” Steve slams his hand down on the table, making Billy jump. “Damian Shaw. That’s what it was.” Steve stands so suddenly that the chair falls back behind him and clatters against the tile floor. “One of your faggot friends, is he?’

Steve rounds the table to grab Billy by the front of his wifebeater and clocks him right in the face. Billy yells out in pain and stumbles back, clutching at his bleeding nose.

“You sucking negro faggot cock, are you, boy?” Steve hits him in the side of the head, knee coming up into his stomach as Billy lists sideways. “Answer me!” he bellows.

Susan appears in the hallway quite suddenly, looking angry. “Neil,” she hisses. “Maxine is in bed. Please lower your voice.”

“Honey, why don’t you go back into the bedroom?” Steve says. “I’ll be right behind you.” Susan nods, looking a little annoyed, but leaves anyway. She and Billy don’t acknowledge each other.

Billy is sitting on the ground, fingers numbly touching at the puffy skin around his eye. Steve can’t believe that he’s not fighting back. He’s finally learned some _fucking_ respect. He spits into Billy’s face, watching his saliva slide down Billy’s cheek from his eye, then squats in front of him. With difficulty, Billy forces himself to look up. 

“Pack up your shit, faggot,” Steve whispers. He’d been waiting weeks for this to become a reality. He’s been _dreaming_ about this. “We’re leaving in the morning.”

Billy’s eyes go big and round, like he wants to ask where and why, but he doesn’t. Just as well. He’ll find out soon enough. Steve stands up again and goes over to the sink to wash the blood off his knuckles. 

“I’m not living in a town where everyone knows you’re a fairy,” he says, back to the conversational tone. Rick says Indiana hicks don’t like fags, so if word gets out there, maybe they’ll run Billy out of town before Neil even gets to him. _Finally_ , he won’t be the only one with his head on straight. “I signed the paperwork for the new house on Monday. We leave at 8am.”

He dries his hands off on the towel hanging off the oven door, then throws it down into Billy’s face. “Fucking clean up in here,” he says. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to stop making a fucking _mess_.”

Billy doesn’t move for a long time.

xxx

Gia and Steve are leaving a taqueria near the library when Edgar sees them from across the street.

“Harrington!” he yells and runs through traffic like some annoying, suit-wearing version of Frogger.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says. Gia’s hand comes up to rub at his back between his shoulder blades.

“ _Harrington_ ,” he says again, deepening his voice and miming boxing punches at Steve. He seems to have fully committed to trying to come off as cool. “And who’s the pretty madam?”

“Eat my fuckin’ shorts, man,” Steve says under his breath; then, louder, “This is my girlfriend, Gia.”

“ _Enchanté_.” Edgar starts to sink into a stupid bow, so Steve whacks him on the side of the head. He half-stumbles out of it, clearing his throat and straightening his tie. 

“Nice to meet you, Edgar,” Gia says. She glances up to meet Steve’s eye and winks. Steve’s knees go a little weak.

“ _Ooohh_. Don’t tell me. _Don’t tell me_.” Edgar fists one hand and makes a face like he’s been constipated for three months. “You’re from Valle d’Aosto.”

“That is so unnecessarily specific,” Steve says, but Gia looks impressed.

“Torino, actually. Very close. You know Italy?”

“My grandfather’s family still lives out there, but much closer to Firenze. He makes Sangiovese reds.”

“Oh, my mother loves Sangiovese reds.” Gia actually claps her hands together in delight. “ _Parli italiano_?”

“ _Certo_!” They immediately switch into Italian and Steve can’t help but wonder if Edgar learned Italian in the four months Steve and Gia have been dating, just to get another angle in on Robin. He gets wrapped up in how weird that would be, and how unlikely it would be, which makes it _even more likely_. He forgets to listen to Gia speaking Italian, which usually gets him going pretty quickly.

“Did you need something?” Steve interrupts. They both turn to look at him and Edgar makes a comment out of the side of his mouth, probably something like _get a load’a this guy_ , but more annoying, and they both laugh. 

“Can’t a guy just come say hello to his _brother_?” He goes for the fake jabs again and Steve has to slap his hands away to get him to stop.

“Hi,” Steve says. “Cool, now, _goodbye_.” He tightens his grip around Gia’s shoulders and starts to steer them away, but of course, _of course_ \--

“Wait, I did actually--” Gia puts the back of her hand against Steve’s chest to get him to stop moving while Edgar struggles through the five feet between them. _God_ , this guy is so fucking sweaty for absolutely no reason. He should go to a doctor or something. “I did have a favor,” he says, then has to stop for a minute to catch his breath.

“Oh my God,” Steve says.

“I’m going to the opera next week.” Edgar pulls a pair of tickets out of the inside of his coat and waves them at Steve and Gia “Can you ask Robin if she would want to go with me?”

“Dude,” Steve starts, but Gia pinches his side and shakes her head.

“Let me talk to him,” she says quietly. Steve gives her a look, and she gives him a look back, and keeps giving him that look until he goes a couple storefronts down to wait. He watches them talk for a minute before he starts scuffing his shoes against the building.

“ _I’m going to the opera next week_ ,” he mocks. “ _I’m going to masturbate with hundred-dollar bills in the front row so everyone knows how rich I am_.” A woman walking past huffs and shoots him a dirty look, her arm curling around her young daughter’s shoulders. “Sorry, ma’am,” he calls after them. “Stay in school, little lady, huh? Oh fuck, I sound like a pedophile.”

Gia leans up to kiss Edgar on the cheek, then saunters back to Steve looking triumphant. 

“What did you say to him?” he asks. She snakes an arm around his waist and they continue walking, no real destination in mind. It’s one of those rare warm winter days where Midwesterners start shedding their coats and pretending the temperature won’t drop again tomorrow. Steve has his jacket unzipped because he’s used to it, but Gia has two scarves around her neck and mittens she says aren’t warm enough.

“I told him she is a lesbian.” She smiles up at him, waiting for his reaction. Steve, unfortunately, almost trips and chokes on his spit in tandem, but he thinks he hides it by clearing his throat and pulling her in closer.

“Smart,” he says. His heart is pounding in his chest. Did she know? Had he _said_ something? He doesn’t know when he would have, but maybe he did during sex or something, when he wasn’t in his right mind. “Real quick thinking.”

“She is dating her friend, the tall one with the brown hair, right? Drew? They make a very beautiful couple. The kind that makes pretty babies, you know?” 

“Uh-huh,” he says. _She doesn’t actually know_ , which means that Steve didn’t totally fuck up. Robin’s secret is safe. Mostly. He tries to sigh with relief without it sounding like he’s sighing in relief. “Pretty cute that you’re trying to protect Robin,” he tells her, just for the smile he gets in return.

“I like Robin,” she says. “She is smart and sweet, plus she knows a _lot_ of embarrassing stories about you.”

“Oh _God_ ,” Steve groans. Gia laughs and he leans down to kiss her on the top of her head.

“So listen,” she says a while later as they stop on a bridge to watch the sun sink below the skyline. The city is starting to twinkle against the night sky. Steve didn’t realize they’d been walking for so long. “Natalie and I were going to go to Wisconsin over spring break, but her grandma is sick, so she is going home to Texas.”

“That sucks.”

“Yes. _But_. We already rented the cabin…” She trails off and looks up at him, smiling, almost shy.

“Is it refundable?’ he asks.

She shrugs. “I was thinking, maybe we can go up together. It is in the woods. Nobody around. We would have all that space to ourselves.”

Steve thinks of beer and loud sex and waking up next to her and gets a little dizzy. “That sounds awesome.”

xxx

“Hey,” Billy breathes. He bumps their noses together and Steve can feel his grin more than he can see it. “Stop thinking.”

“I’m not,” Steve says, even though all he can think about is how he can feel Billy’s erection through his jeans, and how Billy can probably feel Steve’s erection through his Spiderman pajama pants. He feels sleepy and drunk from making out and he wants Billy to stop being such a dick so they can get back to kissing.

“ _You are_.” He leans down to bite Steve’s ear and dodges another one of his kisses. “You just gotta let yourself feel it, pretty boy.” Steve pushes at his jacket, trying to get it off Billy’s shoulders, and Billy laughs and shrugs it off. He sits up to pull his shirt over his head and Steve’s hips jerk a little bit, just looking. 

“King Steve,” Billy says, going up on his knees to straddle him. He thumbs open the button of his jeans. “Always knew you wanted cock.”

“Shut up,” Steve says. Billy grins obnoxiously but leans down again for a kiss, or two, or seven. His hands keep sliding up and down Steve’s sides, index fingers trailing across his nipples.

“You had your dick sucked?” Billy asks. He shifts back, and back, and pulls Steve’s pants down just enough to see his briefs.

“I _have_ had sex before,” Steve grumbles. Billy laughs and leans down to put his mouth on Steve’s dick through his underwear. Billy presses a hand against his hips to keep him from jerking up, which is annoying until Steve thinks about it more; then it’s hot. Billy doesn’t let up until the front is soaked through with spit and pre-cum, then slides Steve’s underwear down over the curve of his ass, just enough to fucking _deep throat him_. Steve says, “Oh my fucking God,” and, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” before he has to pull at Billy’s hair to stop from coming down his throat.

“ _What_ ,” Billy says, finally pulling off. His mouth is so red and so wet. There’s drool at the corners of his mouth that he wipes absently with the back of his hand. “I’m a little busy here.” Steve looks at his mouth again, thinks about it around his dick, and comes. He lays there for a minute, feeling good and warm. Billy starts to move up his body, tongue dragging over his skin. When he makes it back up to kiss Steve, he has jizz on his nose, and Steve has the hazy realization that Billy had just licked all of the cum off his skin. Steve doesn’t have enough time to get grossed out by it before they start kissing again.

Billy starts to circle his hips a bit, rubbing up against Steve’s stomach, and though it does feel good in a dizzying, spinning sort of way, he suddenly _needs_ to have his legs around Billy. His dick is still sensitive, but he feels an urgency to get closer, to increase the pressure of their friction.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says clumsily. Billy stops and looks down at him, then grins while he watches Steve struggling to kick off his pants.

“You are a mess,” Billy says delightedly. He sits back on his knees to untangle Steve’s pants, then shimmies out of his own. He wastes no time in sliding back up to Steve, their chests pressed together. Steve is having trouble keeping track of their kiss the longer Bill’s cock is out, warm and trapped between both their stomachs. His own erection is even starting to come back.

Billy starts to lose some of his rhythm the closer he gets to orgasm. His mouth goes slack against Steve’s chin when he finally comes. Steve pushes back against his shoulders so he can watch his face, trying to memorize every detail of it. He’s still looking when Billy’s eyes blink open.

“Not done yet,” he says, voice so quiet that Steve almost doesn’t hear him. His hand glides back down between them. Steve had been so focused on feeling Billy ride out his orgasm that he hadn’t really noticed that he’s hard again. Billy slicks Steve’s dick up with his jizz and Steve’s precome and jerks him off, so fast and steady that Steve doesn’t stand a chance.

As Steve is coming down, Billy slots himself into his side as close as he can get, tangling their legs together. The thigh Billy throws across him is muscular and heavy and Steve wraps his hand over it, fingers skirting along the thick muscle running up to his ass.

“That was fun,” Billy says. Steve tilts his head down to look at Billy. He stares at his eyelashes, long against his cheeks, until Billy looks up and meets his eye. He smiles and Steve’s heart stops beating, just for a moment.

xxx

He wakes up to a black ink stain in his sheets and on the leg of his pajama pants.

“Oh goddammit,” he says. It’s definitely not going to wash out. He can’t find the pen either, but he does find way too many Reese’s wrappers and one of Gia’s earrings. He strips the bed and fans the sheet out with a sharp flick, trying to dislodge it so it doesn’t bleed over more of the bed. Still no dice.

He tosses all of his sheets and the underwear laying next to his bed into a laundry basket and wonders how much he could pay Robin to go to the laundromat for him.

xxx

Steve has to grab Clara’s shoulders to stop her from toppling over into the bushes in front of the library.

“Oh, jeez!” he says, righting her again. They shuffle sideways out of the doorway so people can get by. “Are you all right?”

“You scared me!” she laughs, clutching at her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Steve, right? Robin’s friend.” She shakes some of the jelly bracelets down to her elbow so she can tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and Steve’s eyes catch on the rainbow friendship bracelet that stays tight around her wrist.

“Hey, that’s really cool. Did you make it?” He reaches out to touch it without even thinking, but she just holds her hand closer to him as he traces the intricate pattern.

“Yeah, I used to make them a lot with… someone I’m not friends with anymore.”

“That’s so cool.” His eyes flick up to hers and he tries to see what Robin had seen, because the second Steve walked in the door after walking Gia home from Christopher’s party, she’d howled, _she’s a lesbian, Steve!_ She couldn’t know, not for sure, but she kept insisting. “You should show Robin how to make these.”

Clara blushes hard and drops her eyes to the floor. “I should go,” she says suddenly. “I’m, um. I’m sitting on a panel today and it’s -- I should head over there.”

“What kind of panel?” 

“Oh,” she says, blinking, like she didn’t expect him to ask. “I’m getting my degree in social work. There’s an info session and I’m, you know, doing my junior year internship.”

“Social work is, like, kids, right? Adoption or whatever?”

She gives him a small smile. “Or whatever,” she replies. “You can do, like, anything with it. I’m interning as a care specialist at a nursing home right now. I’ve been more focused on doing things to serve the elderly. But yeah, you can also work with kids, and you can do healthcare, policy, domestic violence, stuff like that. I have a friend who’s doing crisis intervention. What are you studying?”

“Whoa,” he says. “Can I -- can I come with you?” He has a paper to write and math to slog his way through. He’ll take any excuse not to hunker down in the library for the next twelve hours. She looks surprised.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, of course you can. Um. Yeah.” They turn and walk down the steps together.

“I’m not really sure what I’m studying,” he says after a minute. “To answer your question. I’m, uh, I’m studying business but it’s not… you know, I’m not really digging it. Robin keeps telling me I need to do something more interesting so she doesn’t have to hear me whine about it for the next four years.”

Clara laughs. “Honestly, don’t waste four years doing something you hate, because you’re just going to keep on doing that for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah, my dad wants me to come work for his company. I’ve switched majors a couple of times, switched, like, a bunch of my classes, all within the first two weeks, and I’m still… still not sure.”

“You’re in your second semester. You’ll figure it out.”

“I want to do something that matters,” he tells her, squinting against the sun. “Back home, I have all these -- kids, I guess, they’re all these, like, high schoolers that I got sucked into babysitting somehow, back when they were in middle school. I’m not really that smart or anything, I’m only here because my dad went here and knows a guy, so I’m not bound to be a -- a doctor or anything. I really liked feeling like I was making a difference, you know? Like I influenced those kids into being -- no, you know what, they made _me_ better than I made them.”

“That’s how it goes, isn’t it?” she says, smiling. “I think any work that changes you is meaningful.”

He nods slowly, thinking it over. “Yeah. I’ve seen some shit. Do you think that might make me good at talking to people who have also seen some shit?”

“Only one way to find out.”

The social work building is just as much brick inside as it is outside. Clara leads him into an auditorium at the center of the building, where three students are sitting up on the stage listening to a professor giving directions.

“Oh, shoot, we’re starting,” Clara says. “I’ll see you afterwards?” She hurries off towards the front of the room.

There’s only a handful of people there, and nobody Steve knows. It’s Saturday, so there are a couple of kids with their parents, clutching the UIC welcome folders they give to all of the visitors. Steve sits towards the back, then changes his mind and moves a little closer so he can make eye contact with Clara.

Two of the students on stage with her are seniors and the other is a sophomore. The head of the department, Mr. Hirota, gives a brief overview of the curriculum, then introduces the students in turn. They talk about their experiences in their different internships -- one of them in local government, one in addiction counseling, one in youth corrections, and Clara in the nursing home -- and Steve’s hand is in the air before he even realizes it the moment Mr. Hirota calls for questions.

When Mr. Hirota points to him, he loses his train of thought. “Uh,” he says. His heart is pounding and it takes a minute for his brain to catch up. He feels _good_. Excited, like he’s on the verge of something.“I’m a freshman here and I’m already -- what do we need to change to a social work degree?” Up on stage, Clara grins at him.

“What’s your name?”

“Steve Harrington.”

“Steve, since you’re in your first year, you’re at the ideal time to shift over to our department. I recommend setting up a meeting with me so we can sit down and go through your transcript together. We have a 3.0 GPA minimum and we only take students with no record of university misconduct. Otherwise, you’re in a great spot since you’re still finishing your general education requirements.”

He turns to the rest of the auditorium to answer other questions, but Steve’s hand is in the air again. He looks up at it like it’s betrayed him.

“Mr. Harrington,” he calls. He doesn’t even look annoyed, like all of Steve’s teachers used to when he would ask a question in class. _If you ever listened, Mr. Harrington_ , they would say, _you wouldn’t ask such stupid questions._

“When do you have to pick a concentration?”

“You’re allowed up to four for-credit internships during your four years in Jane Addams. Depending on how many you’d like to take on, we ask our students to select a concentration sometime between the second semester of their sophomore year and the start of their junior year. This can be changed at a later date if something else catches your eye.”

“Cool,” Steve says. “Thanks.” 

At some point during the presentation, he’d taken a notebook out of his backpack and started scribbling notes about thoughts he was having. Crisis counselor: sounds scary, but he’s been there before. Group home worker: sounds like too many children too much of the time. HIV/AIDS program coordinator: maybe? Robin talks a lot about how the epidemic is such a big deal, and how much the government isn’t doing anything to fix it. Veteran’s assistance sounds all right, too. Mostly he has no idea what any of these jobs even entail.

After the Q&A, Steve waits along the wall for Mr. Hirota, who thanks the panelists before coming down to meet him.

“Mr. Harrington,” he says, sticking out a hand to shake Steve’s. “I’m glad to hear you’re interested. It’s a really rewarding field. Look, my son has a baseball game at noon, so I need to jet, but I have office hours on Tuesday from ten to twelve. Stop by and we can map out some options for you. As long as your GPA is sufficient, you can start with us in the fall.”

“Wow,” Steve says. “That’s great. Okay. I’ll see you then.”

Clara replaces Mr. Hirota at his side. “So what did you think?” she asks, eyes following Mr. Hirota out of the auditorium. “You’re already on his nice list. He likes people who ask questions.”

Steve smiles at her. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it sounds cool.” He doesn’t really know how to _begin_ describing the tightness in his chest. His fingers are tingling, like his body is itching for him to get started right this minute. “Sounds better than business, anyway.”

He buys her lunch and they sit in the courtyard outside the library to eat. Steve definitely approves -- _definitely_ approves, even if he still can’t tell if she’s a lesbian or not. She’s funny and smart and is patient in explaining things to Steve when she says words he doesn’t understand like case management and direct practice. Steve can see her fitting in easily with their group of friends, and he can see her making Robin really, really happy.

xxx

He and Billy sit together in a room made of dark. The floor keeps them upright, but the room stretches out in every other direction, so far that Steve doesn’t know if it ends at all. There’s a steady drip somewhere, both in the distance and, impossibly, right beside them. A single drip. Billy is wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a red shirt, buttons popped open most of the way down. He looks over Steve’s shoulder, expressionless, like he hasn’t noticed that Steve is there at all.

They sit in silence.

xxx

Steve spends most of the early spring evenings naked with Gia by the open window. There’s a tree that brushes up against the side of the house and they lay there for hours watching the birds and squirrels.

Gia coaches him on the right way to eat her out until she loses track of what she’s saying and grips into his hair, making breathy noises. She throws her head back when she comes, and Steve rests a cheek against her shaking thigh and sits with the sudden and unwanted realization that he’d never given Nancy Wheeler an orgasm.

“Do you like Indiana?” she asks him one night. The room is dark except for the flickering candles they lit after dinner. She’s tracing her finger along his chest, connecting his birthmarks one by one.

Steve has to think about his answer. “Yeah,” he says uncertainly. “I mean, I think so, anyway. It’s home.”

“I would like to visit Hawkins.” She rests her head on his shoulder and her hair tickles his arm. “Do you think I can come for a week in the summer?”

“I would like that,” he says. She smiles and kisses his neck, then pulls the blanket up over the both of them to keep in the warmth.

xxx

Billy is sitting in the middle of the floor, legs crossed. His eyes are closed. The room is made of wood, and sunlight filters in through the dusty windows and a gaping hole in the roof. The room is empty except for the two of them and a pile of food wrappers and trash in one corner.

Steve stands near the door, looking for a while, before he goes to sit down in front of Billy, close enough that their knees almost touch. Billy’s face is serene in a way that makes Steve uneasy. He blinks and Billy’s hair is long and matted, suddenly, and he has several inches of unkempt beard. He’s in a dirty wifebeater and jeans. Steve looks around the room again to find that they’re in Hopper’s cabin.

When he looks back, Billy’s eyes are trained on him. His eyes are shimmering, even as his face stays expressionless, and it takes Steve a moment to realize they’re tears. One tracks itself down his cheek through the dirt and blood caked onto his skin. Billy’s lips start to tremble from within the tangle of his beard.

“Help me,” he grinds out, voice small and quiet, then crashes onto his back like he’s just been kicked in the chest.

Steve gasps himself awake.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dustin.” Steve leans his forehead against the wall, almost dizzy with relief. “Thank God. Listen, this is a code red.”
> 
> “Code red,” Dustin repeats, suddenly sounding alert and serious. “Copy that. Waiting for transmission.”
> 
> “Billy’s alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Blood, violence, tying someone down (non-sexual), use of the word "spaz" (one time), PTSD, depression, scarring, being held prisoner (Billy by the MindFlayer), use of the word "insane" relating to someone's mental state

“Robin,” he whispers. He tries to shake her gently, but knows that, in his panic, he’s probably being a little too rough. “ _Robin_.”

“Fu’ off,” she groans, swatting at his hand. She starts to turn over but stops when Steve grips her shoulder. She stares at him with wide, unfocused eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to go.” He probably looks insane, standing there looking a breath away from absolutely losing it. The cold sweat is still drying on his back and the nape of his neck. He pulls the blanket off of her and tosses it to the end of the bed in a heap. 

“What’s going on?” she calls as he leaves her room to go dig through the hall closet. “Steve, what’s wrong?” When he looks over his shoulder, she’s standing in the doorway of her bedroom wrapped in her comforter and rubbing one eye with her fist.

“This is going to sound fucking insane,” he says, giving up trying to shift things to the side and just plunging his arm into the mass of jackets, bags, and boxes. A roller skate rolls out from somewhere and hits the opposite wall. “Billy is _alive_.” He emphasizes this by heaving his nail bat from the back corner of the closet. It rips through some bags and probably at least one winter coat on its way out. 

“Billy,” she says slowly. He props the bat against the front door and goes back into his bedroom. Robin follows. “Like, _Billy_ Billy. Billy, who killed a bunch of people in Hawkins. Billy, who _died in front of us._ Billy, whose dead body _we watched them take away_.”

“No, the other one.” He shoves clothes at random into his backpack. He doesn’t know how long they’re going to be gone. He doesn’t know _anything_ except that they need to leave _right now_. “I need you to go pack, Robin. Grab whatever you can use as a weapon.”

“Steve,” she starts.

“ _Robin_.” It comes out way sharper than he means it to, but she does leave immediately, so he lets it go. He thinks he has the most important clothes in his bag, so he goes to dig through the kitchen drawers. He takes the box of Cheerios from the top of the fridge and dumps the bag out so he can replace it with their sharpest knives and a pair of scissors.

“Leaving in five,” he calls. He puts the box on the counter and swings the bag over his shoulder while he dials Dustin’s number from memory. Nobody picks up, so he calls again. And again. _And again_. Finally, Mrs. Henderson answers the phone.

“Excuse me, but it’s _four-thirty in the morning_ ,” she starts, sounding angry, but Steve interrupts her and _oh shit_ is he going to Hawkins Hell for this. 

“Mrs. Henderson, it’s Steve. I need to talk to Dustin.” She’s quiet for a long time, so he adds, “Harrington. Steve Harrington.”

“Yes, I know,” she snaps. “Dustin is asleep.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“And my fifteen-year old son can help _how_?”

“Mrs. Henderson--”

“Call back at a normal time, young man.”

She hangs up.

“Fuck!” he shouts and dials again. She picks up on the first ring.

“Don’t think I won’t call the police on you, Steve Harrington!” There’s some noise in the background and it goes muffled like her hand is clamped over the mouthpiece.

“Is that Dustin?” Steve says loudly, starting to feel desperate. “Mrs. Henderson, is that Dustin?”

“For God’s sake,” she says but there’s clattering as the phone transfers hands.

“Steve?” he says, voice scratchy from sleep.

“ _Dustin_.” Steve leans his forehead against the wall, almost dizzy with relief. “Thank God. Listen, this is a code red.”

“Code red,” Dustin repeats, suddenly sounding alert and serious. “Copy that. Waiting for transmission.”

“Billy’s alive,” he says.

“Billy Hargrove?”

Steve feels like ripping his hair out. “ _Yes_. Listen to me, Dustin. I’m not fucking around. Robin and I are leaving Chicago, we’ll be there by six-thirty without anyone on the roads. I need you and the other losers to meet us at the arcade. Okay? Bring whatever you have to fight with. I don’t know what we’re up against, but he’s in Hawkins, so don’t hold back.”

“The feds took Billy’s body away,” Dustin says. “I saw it.”

“Since when do we trust the government with this shit?”

“Yeah,” Dustin says slowly. “Okay.”

“I need you to call Jonathan and Nancy. We’re going to need their help, too.”

“Won’t that just slow us down?”

“Nancy knows how to use a gun,” Steve says. He can’t think of anything special that Jonathan can do. “Just call them, meathead. We’ll see you soon.” He hangs up and goes into Robin’s room to find her sitting at the end of her bed looking tired and miserable, backpack at her feet. “Ready?”

She nods and follows him into the kitchen, watching quietly as he gathers his bat and the box of knives. “I need you to tell me what’s going on,” she says.

They stop at a 7-Eleven to fill up before merging onto the Chicago Skyway. He pumps gas while Robin goes inside to get coffee and food. There’s a moment, standing still outside of the car, March wind biting at his legs through his sweatpants, that he begins to wonder if he’d made it all up.

xxx

Robin falls asleep about an hour into the drive after listening quietly to Steve tell her about the dream. Hearing it out loud makes Steve realize just how much it sounds like total bullshit, but she just nods and stares quietly out of the windshield.

“There’s a lot more going on in Hawkins than I know about, isn’t there?” she asked carefully, and Steve wished he could tell her Starcourt was an isolated incident.

Steve does end up shaving half an hour off the clock, so when Route 6 turns into Main Street and they roll into town, the sun is barely beginning to rise over the rooftops. All of the shops and small restaurants around the square are dark. He gets so homesick sometimes that he forgets just how small Hawkins really is.

He keeps driving east past the subdivision where the Wheelers live and the roads that lead out to the quarry and the middle school. The strip malls come into view: Bradley’s Big Buy, Family Video, and Chuck E. Cheese on the left; and the arcade, Tim’s Auto Repair, and the record store on the right. Steve can’t even begin to name the newest, shiniest storefronts, though, because they’re all Starcourt transplants. He spent the year he worked at Family Video going from his house to Robin’s or Dustin’s house to work and back again. Sheltering himself didn’t leave a lot of room for re-memorizing his hometown. He already knew too much.

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve whispers as he pulls into the driveway. Dustin and Lucas are standing next to their bikes talking quietly. It’s the least spazzed out Steve’s ever seen Dustin. “Fucking love that kid.”

Dustin is banging against the window before Steve can even throw the car into park. “Steve!” he screeches. Robin jerks awake. “Steve, you’re back!”

“Alright, alright, keep it in your pants.” Steve can barely get the door open. Dustin looks like he wants to throw his arms around Steve immediately, but settles for standing there beaming. Lucas nods at him from where he’s leaned up against the wall and Steve notes with relief the bulging backpack sitting at his feet. “Are Nancy and Jonathan coming?”

“Yeah, they’re bringing Will and El too. They were already back up in Milwaukee with Mrs. Byers. The more the merrier, right?”

“Great.” Steve claps him on the shoulder, then pulls him into a hug. Dustin is almost tall as he is now which is never going to stop being weird. “You’ve gotten taller since Christmas, shithead.”

“And _you’ve_ gotten uglier.” Dustin holds onto him for a little too long and Steve has to physically step out of his arms to end the hug. Robin slides out of the car and Dustin goes a little pink like he has ever since the disbandment of the Scoops Troop. “Robin’s here too!”

“Hey, dorks.” She yawns into the sleeve of her sweatshirt. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Lucas asks, looking at his watch. “They probably won’t roll up for another two hours or so.”

“Traffic’s bad in Milwaukee,” Dustin tells Steve, like he’s letting him in on a secret. “Always construction going on up there.”

“They’re picking Mike up when they get into town,” Lucas says, rolling his eyes at Steve over Dustin’s head. “He’s going to cover for Nancy in case their parents are up so she can grab some guns and stuff. She was supposed to be spending spring break with Jonathan, so her mom would go ballistic.”

Steve looks out over the empty parking lot. The still-rising sun makes everything golden and hazy. “Let’s get some breakfast and talk game plan.”

They leave the bikes against the side of the building and climb into the backseat of Steve’s car. Dustin immediately almost cuts his hand off when he goes to plunge his entire arm into the cereal box full of knives.

“What the _fuck_ , Steve?” 

“Can it, Henderson,” Steve says and throws the car in reverse.

The waitress Gloria is the only person in the diner aside from them and the chef. She looks at them with tired, heavily mascaraed eyes and Steve thinks she might be the aunt of his first girlfriend, or maybe the stepmother. “What can I get you?” she asks, not bothering to move from behind the counter. She looks very much like she’s not going to care enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. _Perfect_.

“Four coffees and four deluxe,” Steve calls.

“Extra,” Dustin starts.

“Bacon extra crispy,” Steve adds.

She nods and peels herself off the counter to go back into the kitchen. When she’s out of sight, Dustin produces long sheathes of paper and a box of colored pencils from his backpack.

“Nerd,” Lucas mutters under his breath. Dustin elbows him in the ribs.

“Let’s start with what the _hell_ you meant over the phone,” he says to Steve. “Not that it’s not wonderful to see you. It’s just, _what the hell_.” 

“Right.” He launches into the same explanation he gave Robin, with her chiming in at times to fill in bits he misses. He’s been having dreams about Billy for a few months. No, nothing specific. No, they didn’t talk until Billy spoke last night. _Always knew you wanted cock_ swims to the surface, but he pushes it back down, even as his stomach swoops. “And now I’m here, being stared at by you three assholes because none of you believe me.”

Gloria comes by with their coffee as Robin tries guiltily to rearrange her skeptical expression into something more supportive. The bags under her eyes don’t help.

“And you’re sure these aren’t just dreams,” Lucas says. It’s not a question, but it isn’t entirely sincere either.

Dustin sticks up for Steve, even though he doesn’t look entirely convinced himself. “Lucas, the drippy room. That sounds like the place El goes, doesn’t it?”

“The place El goes?” Steve presses as Lucas taps his chin and hums, “Perhaps.”

“You know how El can see things far away?”

“No,” Robin says, while Steve nods. Dustin chooses to ignore Robin’s lack of freak show experience and barrels on.

“Well, the way she describes it, it sounds like she goes into a dark room and there’s water on the ground, but she never gets wet.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Steve says excitedly. 

“So, do you think,” Robin starts, then pauses to stare into her coffee as she stirs in some creamer. “Do you think Steve has… powers or something?”

“No,” Steve says at the same time Dustin says, “Yes.”

“They didn’t start until, like, September. There’s no way this is left over from Starcourt or else I would’ve dreamt stuff like this before, right? And nothing’s happened in Chicago that makes me think it’s from there, either. No disappearances, no amnesia, no weird mood changes.”

Dustin rattles off some sciencey words like _radiation_ and _half-life_ , but Steve is more concerned about _what_ the dreams are rather than _why_ he’s having them in the first place.

“Who gives a shit,” Steve says finally. Gloria comes by with their food and he waits until she leaves to start talking again. “Look, if I’m wrong, I’m wrong. If I’m right, Billy’s out there in Hop’s cabin, alive. He needs help.”

“Do you think it’s the Mind Flayer?” Dustin asks. “Do you think it’s luring you there so you can be its next host?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t Jane or – El, or whatever her name is, didn’t she kill that thing?” Robin asks. They all fall silent for a moment, thinking.

“What about that thing that she had in her leg?” Lucas asks. “The Mind Flayer goop. Billy had that stuff all up in him. What if it didn’t all get out when he died?”

Steve points at him with a slice of bacon. “You might be onto something.”

They throw ideas back and forth while they eat, then stack the plates up on the table behind Dustin and Lucas so they can spread the paper out between them

“Okay,” Dustin says, drawing a square and some lines to represent Hopper’s cabin and its rooms. He draws two long, squiggly lines to symbolize the road.

“Are you sure this is the layout of the house?” Steve asks.

“Pretty sure,” Dustin says. “Since Starcourt, I’ve been trying to memorize the blueprints of all the buildings in Hawkins.”

“That’s fucking insane, Dustin.”

“If you’re so _concerned_ , we can have El look at it when they get here. Now, _focus_. What room was Billy in?”

“The main room.” Steve points to the center of the biggest square and Dustin draws a circle there. “There was trash over here. Food wrappers and newspapers, stuff like that.”

“Great. So, we come in this way.” He draws a series of small arrows leading up the road and to the house. “There will be nine of us. We can surround the house and go in through the front and back doors simultaneously to confuse him.”

“Wait, nine of us?” Steve does a quick tally in his head. “What about Max?”

Lucas and Dustin exchange a guilty look. 

“We thought we’d leave Max out of this.”

“Just until we rescue him,” Dustin says hurriedly.

“It would kill her to be dragged into it just to find out it’s all bullshit.”

Steve and Lucas look at each other for a long time. Steve can’t even be annoyed that Lucas obviously still doesn’t believe him because _fuck_ , this kid’s a good boyfriend.

“Alright,” Steve says, nodding. “You were saying we should come in from both sides?”

xxx

Steve pulls up next to Jonathan’s car in the parking lot in front of the arcade and has to flick on child lock for the doors so Dustin doesn’t tuck and roll right out of the car.

“Will!” Dustin is shrieking, banging on the window. He’s out of the car the second Steve hits unlock. “El!”

“Inside voices,” Steve yells after him. The arcade opens in an hour and there are a few cars beginning to drift down the main road. It’s Saturday morning and they’re going to draw attention sooner or later if they’re not careful. No kid in their right mind would willingly be up this early on a weekend. He and Robin get out of the car while Lucas goes to meet El, Will, Dustin, and Mike.

“Hi, Steve,” Nancy says quietly. She steps forward like she’s about to give him a hug, but glances at Robin and stops in her tracks. “Hi, Robin.”

“Thanks for coming,” he says, leaning forward to shake Jonathan’s hand.

“So what’s going on?” Nancy asks. “Jonathan said Dustin was yelling a lot and not making much sense.”

“Billy Hargrove is alive,” Robin says before Steve can open his mouth. He looks over at her and she smiles at him, like she knows he’s going to lose it if he has to go through it all one more time. He puts an arm around her and draws her tight against his side. “He’s in Jim Hopper’s cabin. We don’t have time to go through the full story again, so you’re just going to have to trust us.”

Dustin gets everyone together and slams the paper down on the hood of Steve’s car with more force than necessary.

“ _Easy_ ,” Steve says, exasperated, and the little fucker _waves him off_.

They’re sticking with covering both doors. The kids and Jonathan will come in through the back; Steve will lead the way through the front with Nancy and Robin backing him up. They all need to keep their eyes out in case someone else is in the cabin with Billy. Steve doesn’t think there is, but _fuck_ if one of them is going to get killed because of his stupid suicide mission. He’s going to be the first one into the house, even though Dustin really pushed for going in pairs. His protectiveness of his friends aside, he doesn’t even know where to begin explaining the part of him that feels the weird, deep emotional connection with Billy 

They load back into the two cars and are just about to pull out of the lot when Lucas says, “Oh, fuck.”

“Drive!” Dustin yells. He launches forward and bangs on Steve’s shoulders. “Drive, Steve! _Drive!_ ”

“Get _off of me_.” Steve spends too much time trying to slap Dustin’s hands away; by the time he finally succeeds, Max is stooped next to the passenger window looking murderous.

“What’s going on here?” she says. Jonathan’s car is stalled behind them. “Come on, let me in.”

“No, Steve, _no_ ,” Dustin says, but Steve pops the lock anyway and she climbs in next to Lucas. They don’t have _time_ for this.

“What’s going on?” she asks again. Dustin starts to hurriedly roll up the plans, but she grabs the paper out of his hands and smooths it out over her lap. She goes quiet in the backseat and Steve assumes she’s tracing her fingers over Billy’s name where’s circled in the center of the paper.

They don’t talk during the fifteen-minute ride there. Steve hasn’t been to church since he was nine, but he prays and prays and prays that it -- they -- _Billy_ doesn’t know they’re coming. El promised not to spy and he has no choice but to trust her. His heart pounds harder and harder the closer they get, and he only realizes he’s shaking when Robin unsticks one of his hands from the steering wheel and holds it between hers.

The grass surrounding the cabin is yellow and sickly-looking, and a big tree leans across the top of the cabin, the roof splintering at its edges. Steve’s car slows to a stop; Jonathan is right behind him. It’s safer and quieter this way, they decided, driving rather than all ten of them trekking up through the woods.

They get out as quietly as possible and meet Jonathan, Nancy, Will, El, and Mike at the front of the car. El looks absolutely petrified but still wears a harness bearing several different knives across her chest. Steve realizes with a pang that this is the first time she’s seen the cabin since Hop died.

Mike and Nancy are both holding guns and Jonathan is holding a long metal rod. Will has a satchel strapped to his side that Steve hopes isn’t full of magic dust or something.

He’s the first to approach the house, which he likes to think looks more heroic than stupid. Robin and Nancy are right behind him and Jonathan and the kids dart off around the house. The bottom step creaks so loudly that Steve freezes, thinking they’re fucked, but nothing inside makes any noise, so he keeps going, only stopping to help Nancy and Robin avoid the step when he reaches the porch.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, once it’s just him and the door. He’s never had so many people put so much of their trust in him. What if he fucked up? What if this _was_ all of a dream, some weird Freudian shit to make him feel like he has a purpose again? Is he so bored that he’d rather be out here fighting monsters, risking his life and the lives of the people he loves the most?

He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

The first thing he notices is how much light the dust seems to be soaking up. The sun is streaming in through the windows and the roof, giving everything an almost ethereal feel. Next is the cold; the windows are all thrown open to let in the cool March air. And in the middle of the room is Billy, sitting just how Steve left him. His knees quake a little in relief even as his heart pumps even harder.

“Billy,” he says quietly, mostly to let Robin and Nancy know they’re not alone. “Hey, man. It’s me. Steve.”

Billy doesn’t move, so Steve takes another glance around the cabin. It’s shittier than it seemed in the dream. The floorboards are warped where water’s come in through the broken roof; the trash that had only been in one corner is strewn across the ground; and the newspapers underneath Billy’s crossed legs are stained and aged. Billy himself seems to match the room: his hair is long and matted, beard dirty and tangled. It’s hard to tell for sure underneath all of the blood and dirt, but it looks like he’s wearing the same clothes he died in. His arms are dark with soil that hides the scars Steve knows must be there. He can see an open gash on Billy’s dirty knee through the torn leg of his jeans. 

Steve can see Jonathan’s head peek out from behind a wall on the opposite side of the cabin. His eyes are wide, and he disappears again quickly. Steve glances over his shoulder at the sound of soft footsteps and sees Nancy and Robin sliding into the room looking aghast.

Steve takes a deep breath to steady himself before stepping forward and squatting down, far enough out of the way that Billy won’t be able to reach him in one go if he lunges.

“Billy,” he says again. This time, Billy’s eyes snap open, startling Steve so badly that he almost falls back onto his ass.

“Steve,” Billy responds, voice gravelly from disuse. “What are you doing here?”

 _Don’t tell him the plan_ , Dustin kept telling him. _Keep talking to him so we can get some intel and find out what we’re up against._

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Steve is very aware that Billy is looking at his decked-out bat, which is a dead giveaway now that he thinks about it. Then he looks up at Nancy and Robin, both armed and probably looking just as scared as Steve feels. “Thought we could catch up.”

Billy’s eyes snap back to his. For a moment, Steve feels an intense clenching in his chest, like he’s being seen for the very first time. 

And then Billy shoots forward.

Nancy shrieks as Billy’s arms close around Steve’s legs, pulling him towards the center of the room. Steve scrambles against the ground, trying to get his leg away, and knees Billy in the chin. Billy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Billy,” he shouts. He can’t get a good grip on his bat at this angle, so he lets it go. Robin scoops it up immediately. “Fuck, man, if you’re still in there, I need you to give me a _fucking_ sign.”

Billy climbs on top of him and Steve doesn’t have time to react before Billy’s fist connects with the bone in his cheek. Someone makes a strangled noise, but he throws out his hand and yells, “Stop! Not yet!”

“He’s going to kill you!” Max yells. 

Billy keeps going, busting open Steve’s lip and scratching his dull nails against his throat. Steve is bleeding so much from a cut above his eye that he can barely see.

“Fuck,” he says, spraying blood from his mouth onto Billy’s face. “Billy, man, come on.” When he rears back again, Steve shouts, “Max!”

Billy stops dead. Beads of sweat run down his temples and drip off his chin onto Steve’s face. For the first time, he notices just how bad Billy smells and wonders just how fucking long he’s been out here.

“Billy,” Max begs. Steve blinks as much blood out of his eyes as he can and tilts his chin up to see Max standing next to Robin, their hands clasped. She’s crying. “Billy, please stop.”

“Max,” Billy says roughly. He sits up straighter, still on top of Steve. Steve expects him to lunge and grips his thighs to keep him in place, but Billy just sits there for a moment, looking. Over his shoulder, Steve can see Jonathan’s fingers flexing on his metal rod, ready to strike. 

Billy’s weight shifts and Steve digs his fingers in. It feels inadequate, especially when Billy’s muscles ripple under his hands, but it’s the only thing he can reach. Instead of moving, though, Billy grabs the top of his wifebeater and tears it straight down the middle. He doesn’t take his eyes off Max and Steve doesn’t take his eyes off Billy.

“What the fuck,” he hears Lucas say. And then he sees it: a pulse in the middle of Billy’s scarred chest, visible clear as day underneath all of the dirt and blood.

“Now,” Steve says, but it comes out gargled. He swallows the blood in his mouth and says, louder, “ _Now!_ ”

Nancy reaches them first and hits Billy square in the face with the butt of her gun before he has time to react. He falls back off of Steve and onto his ass, baring his teeth as his nose bleeds freely. Mike, Will, Dustin, and Lucas run out from wherever they’d been hiding and Robin pushes Max back against the wall by the door. Steve loses track of things very quickly. His face is throbbing and even blinking hard isn’t getting rid of the blood in his eyes anymore. He tries to scramble to his feet, but his hands are slippery with blood and he falls onto his ass. A pair of hands grab him under the armpits and drag him across the floor; it’s not until he’s propped up against the wall and wiping his face with his shirt that he sees Jonathan rejoining the fray.

It’s no easier to tell what’s happening from this angle. Mike is doubled over on the floor a few feet away clutching his stomach, nodding to Max as she grabs his gun and slides it out onto the porch. Billy has El on the ground now, hands wrapped around her throat. Will runs up behind him and plunges something directly into the meaty part of his shoulder.

Everyone stumbles backwards as he drops El and reaches around to pull the dart out of his skin. He looks at it in confusion for a long time, long enough that Steve is half-expecting him to use all his force to stab El with it. Will and Jonathan, though, have the rest of the darts split between them and take aim from opposite sides of the room. One pierces him in the chest; the other, in the small of his back.

He falls onto his hands, looking dizzy. El catches the dart Will rolls to her and puts it as deep into his neck as it will go.

xxx

“Stunning darts,” Dustin keeps saying, pacing back and forth across the cabin. “Why didn’t I think of that? Genius! Stunning darts! Will, who’s your supplier?”

Billy is fastened to the radiator and the grates of a nonfunctional vent with five pairs of handcuffs on each arm. His ankles are tied together at the hips, knees, and ankles and he’s held stationary by a long piece of chain that winds itself through a metal handle on the floor and up around his chest. His head is leaned back, face pointed towards the sky.

“This is so fucked up,” Robin whispers to Steve as she dabs at the worst of his cuts with an alcohol pad. Leave it to her to be smart enough to pack a first aid kit. _Fuck_ , he owes her a lifetime of beer. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first. This is _so fucked up_.”

Will, Max, and El come back into the house laden with as many space heaters as the Walmart in Skokie, Illinois had in stock. Steve hadn’t even thought of that, but Dustin, in all his infuriating wisdom, had told Jonathan to buy as many as he could on his way down. He didn’t even know what was going on and _still_ managed to cover all their bases.

Steve suddenly feels very, very stupid. He dragged all of them here, and if it weren’t for Dustin and Will, they’d all be dead. Steve hadn’t even thought about what they would do after they stormed the house. It’s as if he thought the rest would be smooth _fucking_ sailing.

“I’m the punching bag,” he tells Robin. Not the hero he’d felt when they first walked in. His lip immediately splits open again.

“Yet again,” Robin tells him tiredly, wiping the blood off his chin with a red-stained dishcloth. “Maybe you need to stop trying to be in charge of these weirdass missions.” They’re quiet for a moment. “At least it wasn’t Russians this time.”

He tries not to laugh, but he’s been coming down hard from the adrenaline since Jonathan dragged him out of the way and he can’t keep himself in check anymore. She makes an annoyed noise and stuffs the rag into his mouth to catch the blood he keeps managing to spit everywhere.

“That’s it,” Will says a few minutes later. He looks very, very pale. Robin pulls Steve up and they help switch on all of the heaters. They’re all battery-operated, so they might be shittier, but at least they don’t need electricity to run. Yet _another_ thing Steve didn’t think about. 

“Dustin,” Steve says, words slurring over his fat lip. “You are a _fucking_ genius.”

Nancy and Jonathan close the windows and doors and it gets very, very hot very, very fast. They stand around sweating and staring at Billy for what seems like an eternity. Steve thinks about how he’d been in the Upside Down with the kids and Dart when they did this to Will. An exorcism. Will is doing his best to stay alert without looking at Billy for too long. He’s crying.

When Billy starts to move, Dustin yells, “Robin, you’ve got to cut him open!” Robin freezes for a second and Steve grabs her hand.

“You can do it,” he whispers. Nancy comes over to take her by the hand and pull her forward.

“Hey, honey,” Billy says as she gets closer. He’s giving her his best smile, even though he’s still groggy; his eyes are at half-mast. “You untie me, you and I can have a little fun. What do you say?”

Robin looks pale, but her hands are steady. Max and El move forward to sit just behind her on either side. 

“How do I know when to cut?” she asks.

“You don’t have to, babydoll,” Billy says.

“When you see it move,” Will tells her. “The heat wakes it up.”

Billy rears his arm back as hard as he can, trying to get out of the handcuffs, and they all jump. Steve can see the blood running down his arm from where he’s grinding the metal against his skin.

“Max, let me out,” Billy says, changing tactics, and Max starts to cry again. “I’ve missed you so much, Max. All that time with you that I fucked up. Please let me out. Max, please. Give me another chance.” When she turns her face away and lets Nancy put an arm around her shoulders, Billy starts kicking out his legs and shifting his body up and down over the chains like he’s trying to loosen them. “You’re really starting to piss me the fuck off,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Wait,” says Will.

Billy continues struggling and swearing at them. El, Nancy, and Robin are holding hands. Max is standing next to Lucas, watching Billy like she’s determined not to look away. Steve wipes his face with the inside of his shirt and misses whatever Will sees that makes him shout, “ _Now!_ ”

Robin yells, “Oh my God!” and plunges her scalpel into his stomach. “Oh my God,” she says again as black blood pours out and over her hands. The scalpel starts to slip out of her grasp, but she’s able to adjust her grip before it falls.

“You _bitch_ ,” Billy shouts, thrashing harder against the binds. Behind him, the radiator creaks dangerously. “That fucking _hurt_.”

El stretches her hand out towards him, squeezing her eyes shut, and they all wait in tense silence as her groan climbs up to a scream. Last Steve heard, she lost her powers after Starcourt. By the way Billy is yelling and writhing, it doesn’t look like that’s true anymore.

Robin stumbles backwards, hands covered in goopy black blood, and Steve catches her around the waist. Billy is yelling but it’s nonsensical, voice pitched higher than his own, sounding desperate and furious. He manages to wrench the radiator up, which sends everyone but El stumbling backwards. The rest of the binds keep him in place, leaving the radiator to rock back and forth as he continues to writhe.

The noise stops very suddenly. There’s a squelch, a thud, and the sound of hollow glass.

El is slumped sideways and bleeding out of her eyes, nose, and ears while Billy lays limp, arms twisted awkwardly over his head. The line Robin cut into the center of his chest burps out a final stream of black before the blood runs deep red. Dustin has whatever had been inside Billy trapped in a glass jar and is tapping his fingers against the glass, watching it turn around and around, feverishly looking for a way out. 

“You fucker,” Dustin says. Lucas passes him a roll of clear, heavy-duty tape out of his backpack and Dustin wraps it around the jar until the creature is a well-insulated blur. “Go back to hell.”

The silence is almost deafening, even as they begin whispering to each other. The air feels charged and tense like it does in the moments after a firework show finale.

“I should,” Robin starts. She drops Steve’s hand and approaches Billy slowly, her eyes trained on his face. She kneels next to him and pulls alcohol and a needle and thread out of her bag. She glances uncertainly over her shoulder at Steve like she’s about to ask for his help, but Nancy sees her and breaks away from Jonathan to sit with her on the floor.

“How do you know how to do all that?” Steve hears Nancy ask quietly. She keeps her gaze fixed on Billy’s face, finger resting on the trigger of her gun, while Robin stitches up the incision.

Steve goes over to where Dustin is peering into the jar. “Let’s get this cleaned up.” 

They turn off the space heaters one by one, pushing them off to the side so they can start to cool down. The cabin is still sweltering. When Steve opens the window overlooking the small, overgrown garden, he stands there for a minute, letting the cold air cool the sweat on his forehead and neck. 

When Steve carries one of the space heaters outside, he finds Will and Jonathan sitting on the porch steps. They both look up and Jonathan says, “We can leave those here.”

Dustin pokes his head around the door. “What if this happens again?”

“It won’t,” Will says quietly.

Steve nods and leaves it sitting just inside the door. Robin is taping a swatch of gauze over the cut, so Steve jerks his head towards her and Billy. “Help me with him?” he asks Jonathan. “Dustin, pop the trunk.”

Max helps them unravel the chains and undo the handcuffs. They all move slowly, watching Billy’s slack face for any sign of consciousness. Dustin, Will, and Lucas come to help them carry Billy to the car. The chains drag underneath, making him even heavier than they expected. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and the weight of exhaustion hangs in the air. Steve catches a glimpse of the clock on his dashboard to find that they’ve only been at the cabin for an hour and a half. The diner feels like another lifetime.

Inside, El is awake but sluggish and Robin is hovering around her with the first aid kit. Steve realizes with a swell of pride and gratitude that nobody but him and Billy has a scratch on them. His plan worked.

“My house,” he murmurs to Jonathan as they file outside. He can’t even remember where his parents are this time, just that they weren’t in Hawkins, as usual. With Steve away at school, it’s only a matter of time before they sell the house and move.

Steve catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and it’s shocking enough that he leans in to get a better look. He’s got two black eyes and several cuts on his forehead and cheeks. He didn't think there were that many; no wonder he was bleeding so much. Robin had mostly cleaned him up, but he’s still a little pink and almost entirely bloody from the neck down. His shirt is ruined. He touches a gash on his cheek and hisses.

The door opens, startling Steve, and Robin slides in. “Does it hurt?” she asks. She reaches out and turns his face with one finger so she can see the other side while Max, Lucas, and Dustin pile into the backseat. “I’m going to put some cream on it when we get back so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Everyone buckled in?” It feels dumb to ask after they’d all just risked their lives to save Steve’s high school bully. Max’s brother. He cranes his neck around to look at the three of them; they’re all staring in different directions looking ashen-faced, but their seatbelts are on, so Steve reverses and starts the drive home. 

“How did you know?” Max asks quietly a few minutes later. Steve glances at her in the rearview mirror. He’ll never stop being impressed at how well she handles this stuff.

“He told me,” he responds, “last night, in a dream.” He almost says _I know it sounds like bullshit_ but bites his tongue before he can. She doesn’t reply and the rest of the ride passes in silence, Steve’s eyes burning and muscles aching. He hits the garage door opener in the cupholder when he pulls into the driveway so he doesn’t have to talk to Mrs. Bryan, their neighbor. Her back is to them as she waters her petunias and Steve thinks it might give her a heart attack if she saw him stumbling out of his car covered in blood and dragging Billy’s lifeless body up the lawn and through the front door. He almost laughs at the image it gives him.

Jonathan parks next to him. They carry Billy up the stairs and into Steve’s bedroom, leaving muddy footprints, blood, and rust from the drag of the chains in their wake. Nobody talks outside of a quiet _shift your weight_ or _hang on, I need a better grip_. The room is just as Steve left it over winter break; a perfect, untouched relic of his high school years. The only thing that’s changed in the last ten years is the full bed his parents bought him to replace the twin after everything went down at Starcourt. His mom was suddenly rueful about the nonexistence of their relationship and decided to fix it by sleeping next to him for two weeks. That didn’t stop her from leaving with Steve’s father at the end of July to visit her sister in New York.

“Go look in my mom’s medicine cabinet for something to give him,” Steve tells Robin. She comes back a few minutes later with a full bottle of oxycodone.

“I don’t know what was in those darts Will had, so just give him one.” She drops the white tablet into Max’s hand so she can tip his head back and press it down his throat. They untangle the chains and ropes and binds, and it’s only then that Steve realizes how dirty they’re getting his bedspread.

“Dustin,” Steve says, digging in his pocket for his wallet. He throws it to Dustin. “Go get some food. I don’t care what. Use the silver card.”

“Our bikes are at the arcade,” he says.

“Shit. Jonathan, can you drive them?”

Jonathan goes paler than Steve thought possible. “I don’t want to leave you with…” He looks down at Billy’s prone form.

“It’s fine,” Steve says. “Robin and I are going to get him in the bath.”

Jonathan hesitates for a long beat before he nods and heads downstairs with Dustin and Will.

“Mike,” Nancy says, “Why don’t you and El go downstairs and rest? Lay on the gray couch. It’s the most comfortable.”

“Max, Lucas, go into my dad’s room and grab him some clothes. I don’t care what. Nancy, can you change these sheets? Linen closet is--”

“To the left of the office,” she says, meeting his eye and nodding resolutely. “I know.”

“Okay.” Nobody moves. “ _Okay_ ,” he says again, and everyone begins to move. He and Robin do their best to pull Billy’s clothes off: the tattered remains of his wifebeater, his ripped jeans. Robin goes into the bathroom to get a pair of scissors to cut off his socks; the dirt caked on is too thick. They manage to get his briefs down as well. Steve really tries not to look.

Steve grew up having the hall bathroom to himself since his parents had an en suite. The _Star Wars_ shower curtain they got him for his tenth birthday is still there and every time he looks at it, he can feel that disappointment bubble back up. He didn’t even see _Star Wars_ until last semester, when Christopher invited him to a showing of the first movie at an independent theater near campus.

Nancy comes back into the room with clean sheets while he and Robin are trying to shuffle out the door with Billy hanging between them. “I started the bath,” she says. Steve sees the exact moment she sees Billy’s dick because she flushes and ducks her head. 

“Thanks, Nance,” he says. They manage to get Billy into the bath in one go but have to drain it immediately because the water turns black with dirt in seconds. It takes three tries to refill the bathtub before the water stays at least relatively clear.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” Robin says a while later as they’re wiping Billy down with soaked washcloths. They’re going to need to refresh the water again soon.

“You trusted me enough to come with,” he says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

She gives him a small smile. “Why didn’t you tell me about the dreams? You said you’ve been having them since September.”

Steve stops scrubbing at the dirt on Billy’s shoulder to give his arm a break. “It’s complicated,” he says.

“Ooookay…”

“Fuck. Okay, fine.” He looks out the door and across the hall to his bedroom, where he can see Lucas and Max helping Nancy with the bedding. His dad’s clothes are already sitting on the toilet seat lid ready to go. “I didn’t say anything at first because there were a lot of…” He exhales quickly through his nose and looks down at Billy, like Billy’s going to sock him in the face if Steve says anything. “Wet dreams.”

“Oh, gross,” Robin says, wrinkling her nose. Then she freezes. “Wait.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“About…”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Yeah, okay.”

“Some of them felt really real,” he says quietly.

“Okay, yeah, I get it -- I promise, you can spare me the details.”

“No.” He waves his hand at her. “Real like I was living in a memory or something. What if he was showing me some of his memories to lead me here?”

Robin’s eyes flick between his face and Billy’s. “Lead you to… sponge-bathing him in your childhood bathroom with his crusty dick _uncomfortably_ close to your lesbian roommate’s face?”

Something about that hits Steve in a way that has him doubling over with laughter. Robin isn’t far behind.

“Oh my God,” Robin wheezes. “Steve, I am so fucking tired.”

“Me too!” Neither of them can seem to stop. There’s a small cough from the doorway and they look up with streaming eyes to see Nancy standing there.

“‘His dick,” Robin chokes out, nearly unintelligible. She collapses forward into Steve’s blood-stained shoulder to keep her head up. Nancy just stands there and watches them and it’s probably her buzzkill attitude that calms them down. Robin has pieces of dried blood clinging to her face from Steve’s shirt and he reaches out to wipe them off while she rubs at her eyes. 

“Yeah,” Robin says, then stops to give a hacking cough. Steve breaks out into giggles again, nearly pulling both of them back over the edge. “We need -- we need a brush. Like -- Steve _stop_ this is _serious_ \-- a comb, you know, with the tooth thingies that get tangles out. And an electric shaver from Steve’s dad’s stuff. I don’t think this guy has seen one a day in his life.” She leans forward to pat Steve on the cheek and he pinches her ankle. Nancy looks at them for another minute before leaving. Robin makes a face as soon as she’s out of sight.

“Wow-ee. You’re right, she’s a real catch.”

“Give her a break,” Steve says. He uses some toilet paper to blow his nose. “She only likes it when I hang out with her brother’s friends.”

“The children,” Robin clarifies. “ _Your_ children.”

“Yes,” Steve says. The longer they stare at each other, the harder it is not to laugh. Nancy interrupts again to set the comb and the razor on the toilet seat, then leans up against the countertop with her arms crossed. Steve winks at Robin and they go back to scrubbing Billy’s skin.

“What’s the plan from here?” Nancy asks. 

“He didn’t think past getting to Hawkins,” Robin tells her, nudging Steve with her knee. “As usual, Dustin’s the mastermind behind us not dying.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve says. “Who got their face beat in today? Not any of you.”

“Oooh, check _mate,_ ” Robin says sarcastically. Steve makes a mocking noise back at her.

“So what? You’re going to send him to live with his parents again?”

“You can’t.” Steve looks over his shoulder to see Max and Lucas standing in the doorway.

“Jeez, can’t a guy get a little privacy in the bath?” he says, mostly joking. The water is too soapy and dirty to see anything, but it still feels a little weird to have an audience.

“If he comes home, Neil will kill him.”

“Plus, he’s legally dead,” Lucas adds. “It’s not like he can just walk up, like, _hey mom and dad! It’s me, Billy!_ I think that would attract a little attention, don’t you?”

“No shit,” Steve says. “That’s why I didn’t suggest it. We're here for a week, we’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll _figure it out_?” Nancy repeats incredulously. Steve likes her, he always has, but her penchant to be condescending really rubs him the wrong way sometimes. It’s worse since they’ve been apart. Steve knows he’s not the smartest guy or lightbulb in the tool shed or whatever, but he suddenly has a sneaking suspicion that she’d made him feel dumber than he actually is. “Steve, this is insane. He’s not a dog, you can’t just return him if things don’t go as planned.”

“That implies I have expectations,” Steve tells her.

“He’ll come back with us if he has to,” Robin offers. Steve looks at her and she shrugs. “It’s not like we have much going on anyway. Might be fun to have a pet.”

“He’ll come back with you,” Nancy repeats, voice edged with a laugh. “Fantastic. You’re going to take _Billy Hargrove_ , who tried to _murder_ us, _including_ both of you, _multiple times_ , back to Chicago so you can spread all of this monster bullshit outside of Hawkins. Real smart, Steve.” She turns and leaves, her footsteps muffled from the carpet even as she goes down the stairs. None of the rest of them say anything for a minute and Robin rises up on her knees to drain and refill the tub.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Max tells Steve. “It would be a lot easier to blend in up there than it would in Hawkins.”

She and Steve look at each other for a long time.

xxx

Billy’s hair is the worst part, which is saying something. They spend forty-five minutes trying to untangle it to a point of at least semi-normalcy, but all that really happens is that it looks even more matted, now with the added bonus of being wet. Steve finds a dead beetle near the back of his neck, held there by dirt and burs, and infected cuts on his neck where it’s been rubbing. That’s where he decides to call it.

“Give me the razor,” he sighs. Chunks of Billy’s hair half-fall but end up dangling around his face, too tangled up with each other to move much. It takes a while to get down to the dirty bottom layer and they leave him with a buzz cut when they finally do. He looks so weird without his mullet. Steve switches to a beard trimmer and moves on to his face while Robin scrubs at his scalp.

They run the bath two more times until it really does come out clear, then drain the tub and do their best to wipe him dry with towels. It’s difficult getting his dead weight into a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants with just the two of them, so Steve shouts for Jonathan to come upstairs. That just ends up being more awkward than helpful, but they do get Billy back into Steve’s bed onto the clean sheets so it’s not a total loss. 

Steve, Robin, and Jonathan stand there for a moment looking down at him. He looks startlingly young with his shaven face, his close-cropped hair, and the pink of his skin from the scrubbing. He almost looks like the Billy before Hawkins -- before Neil even knew Damian’s name.

The scars are bad. Some are thin and white, though most of them are spiderwebbing black marks that almost look like tribal tattoos. The tattoo on his arm is cut through almost entirely with them and Steve wonders if the Mind Flayer exploded inside of him and the blood just stuck there. There’s a long slice running diagonal across his chest, ragged like it’s been amateurly stitched up. That’s the one that killed him. He’s skinny but strong, almost like he’s spent the last year and a half counting calories and working out constantly. He has _so_ many bruises, some from the chains and others already starting to go yellow-brown.

It suddenly hits Steve that he doesn’t actually know Billy at all. The dreams, that night they spent together -- _none of it was real_. All of the things that had made Steve’s skin itch with want the past few months have no foundation in reality. When Billy wakes up, he won’t look at Steve any different than the last time they saw each other. He had risked his life, risked _all_ their lives, for a high school bully who never had a nice word to say about him. 

He’s startled out of his own head by the kids coming into the room and breaking the silence with their quiet chatter. Robin hurriedly leans forward to pull the blankets up and over Billy’s body, resting right under his chin, before anyone sees his scars.

“It got cold, sorry,” Dustin says, shoving a Burger King bag into Steve’s hand. When he looks inside, there are four burgers and two large orders of fries. “For you and Robin.” He waits a beat, then says, “There’s some for him downstairs, too. If he wants.”

Steve looks back at Billy, who hasn’t so much as shifted the entire time they’d been at the house. “Thanks, Dustin.”

Once Jonathan and the kids go downstairs, he and Robin sit on the floor against the dresser and spread the food out between them. They’re too tired to speak. When Robin is done eating, she lays down, resting her head across his knees.

“You need to shower,” she says quietly. “You smell really, really awful. Also, you look like you murdered seventeen people.”

The warm water feels good, even though it relaxes his muscles enough that the aching gets even more pronounced. His ribs are bruised, but not broken, which means that, with the exception of his face, he walked away just fine. When he gets back into his bedroom, Robin and Max are asleep on the floor. Nancy is sitting in the desk chair keeping watch.

“Jonathan and Dustin went to take Mike home,” she tells him as he drops onto the ground next to her. She slides down so they’re sitting side-by-side. “Dustin said to tell you that you won another fight.” She wrinkles her nose and makes an aborted movement to touch his cheek. “Sort of.”

Steve laughs. “You guys are welcome to stay here if you don’t want to see your parents. You and Jonathan can take the guest room or my parents’ room.”

“Thanks.” Steve closes his eyes for a few minutes and is starting to drift off when she nudges his shoulder. “Hey. I like her, you know.” Steve makes a confused noise and she gestures to Robin with a tilt of her head. “She’s smart. She makes you laugh.” Nancy looks almost wistful. “She’s really good for you, Steve.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “I guess she is.”

xxx

Robin shakes him out of a light doze at some point in the early afternoon and steers him into his parents’ bedroom so he can get some real sleep. He doesn’t know what time it is, but the sun is still shining in through the gap in the curtains. He falls asleep quickly and only wakes up once, disoriented and not remembering where he is. He shifts closer to Gia, wanting to pull her into his chest, only to realize too late that it’s Dustin.

When he wakes up again for real, he’s alone in the bedroom and it’s dark outside. He digs around in his mom’s bedside drawer for a mint so he doesn’t have to brush his teeth before shuffling down the hall and into his own bedroom. He and Jonathan side-step each other in the doorway and Jonathan tries to convey something with his face, but Steve is both half-asleep and convinced that Jonathan only has three facial expressions, so his message is not received.

“Hey, sleepyhead!” Robin says from the floor, where she and Nancy are sitting pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. Robin is in her own pajamas and Nancy is in one of Steve’s tee shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. A few years ago, that would have driven him absolutely wild.

“Hey,” he rasps, looking from them to Billy’s slack face and back again. “Any update?”

“We gave him another oxy about an hour ago, but otherwise no. He hasn’t woken up, but he’s still breathing. This is probably the best sleep he’s gotten in forever. Plus, that cut’s gonna hurt like a bitch when he wakes up, so I don’t blame him if he’s putting it off.”

Nancy clambers to her feet, shaking out her legs a bit like she’s been sitting for a while. “Jonathan and I are going to get some groceries. Do either of you need anything while we’re out?”

“Oreos,” Robin says.

“Got it. Steve?”

He shakes his head and she smiles at him, then shoots Robin a significant look before heading downstairs. Steve both wants to know and really, _really_ doesn’t.

“She was giving me tips,” Robin says anyway. He groans and sits down in the spot Nancy just left. “Didn’t know you were a teeth guy, Harrington. You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Shut up,” Steve tells her, going red, and she cackles. 

“It’s just _girl talk_ , Steve.” She looks like she’s just found a treasure chest full of gold, Steve thinks, and also full of lesbians who are ready to fall in love with her. “You know, kissing tips, making fun of your stupid habits, talking about your O face--”

“Oh my _God_.” Steve closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see her imitation. “I wish Billy had just killed me back there; it would’ve been _so_ much less painful.”

She pinches his arm. “ _I’m_ not the one who told her we’re dating.”

“I didn’t _tell her_ anything!”

“I know it’s hard to hear, Steve,” she says, putting her hands up, “but the three weeks Clara and I have been dating is, like, the equivalent of ten gay years. I think we have to break this off. It’s not you. It’s _me_.” Steve sticks his tongue out at her and she crosses her eyes and does it back.

“Have you gotten any sleep?” he asks.

“A bit. I could use some more though. Or some coffee.”

“We have an espresso machine in the kitchen.”

She looks delighted. “I’m going to shotgun three of those and jump in the pool.”

“Oh, Christ,” Steve says.

“Do you have any…” She mimes smoking and he tries to remember if he has a stash here.

“I don’t think so, sorry.”

“Who doesn’t have home weed and _home_ weed?” she asks, throwing her hands up, but she smiles, winks, and ruffles his hair on the way out the door.

Steve stares at a loose thread in his sweatpants for a while and then at a patch on the carpet where he spilled a beer a few years ago and then forgot to clean it up. Then he stares at Billy, who looks yellow in the light coming from Steve’s shitty desk lamp, and wonders what the hell they’re going to do.

It seems like Billy has two options: come to Chicago with Steve and Robin, or fuck off on his own. The second choice isn’t much of a choice at all, because he’s legally dead and won’t be able to get a job or a credit card or a place to live. If he were to come back with them to Chicago -- well, there are only two bedrooms, to start. He wouldn’t have anything to do, but at least he’d be around people who know what happened. Steve could cover his rent and utilities; his mom had forced his dad to give Steve access to what seems like an endless stream of money to make up for the trauma he endured because _they_ made him work at Scoops Ahoy. Her words.

But then he would be around. _Around_. And Steve’s not really sure who _he_ is at the moment; if he’s going to be soft and pliant and playful like he was with Damian, or if he’s going to turn their apartment into an absolute warzone. Was it safe to have him in the house with Robin? He’d heard Billy call other guys _faggot_ and _cocksucker_ enough times that, no matter what happened in California, he’s clearly volatile about that kind of stuff. More than anything, why the _fuck_ is Steve about to invite his high school bully to live with them?

He drifts in and out of thought and sleep, occasionally getting lost in the memory of that dream. _That dream_. He gets a semi without meaning to and only notices that he’s started shifting his hips when he hears Will and Dustin’s voices float up from downstairs.

Billy wakes up so slowly that Steve nearly misses it. He blinks awake, looking dizzy and then screws his eyes closed again for what seems like an eternity. Then he reopens them, this time wider, and blinks hard several times. Steve, now sitting at the desk, waits quietly for Billy to notice him.

“Harrington,” he rasps finally. He winces as his stitches pull. It hits Steve that the Mind Flayer called him _Steve_. Maybe Billy really is back to being the only one inside his body.

“How ya feeling?” Steve asks.

“Been better.”

“You should drink some water.” He grabs the glass Nancy brought upstairs for whenever he woke up and rolls his chair over to the bed while Billy keeps a steady eye on him, looking reproachful.

“I don’t need your help,” Billy protests and actually jerks his head away when Steve touches it to help support his neck. “Did you,” he starts, then cringes again when he pulls a hand up to smooth over his hair. He touches his face too and Steve can’t read his expression.

“We tried to save it,” Steve says quietly. “It was really bad though, man. Did you switch to an all-mud shampoo or something?”

Billy tries to set his forearm over his eyes, but it must hurt too much because he settles for turning his face away from Steve. He’s quiet for a while and Steve isn’t sure if he’s crying or not.

“Do you need another painkiller?” he asks.

“No.”

“Will you drink some water?”

“No.”

“Billy, you’ve been out for almost an entire day. Drink some fucking water.”

Billy’s eyes snap back towards Steve and they look at each other for a moment. He looks better, at least a little bit. The bags under his eyes aren’t as deep. 

“Did you walk into a fucking door or something?” Billy says. Steve touches the corner of the bruise on his right eye where it meets the bone of his cheek. It’s still tender. Billy’s mouth tightens and he looks away. “Water.”

He lets Steve cup the back of his head this time and tip water into his mouth. 

“You should probably eat something too,” Steve says. Billy shakes his head mid-drink and water dribbles down his chin. “You’re on oxy. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to eat on that.”

“You want me to barf it right back up?” Billy asks. Steve rolls his eyes and sets the glass back on the desk.

“How long were you out there?” he asks. The only answer he gets is in the slow shudder that runs down Billy’s spine. 

“Does Max know?” A crease appears between his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah, she was there with us at the cabin.”

To his surprise, Billy chuckles. “That little bitch can’t stay out of fuckin’ trouble, can she?”

“Tell me about it.”

“I forgot. Daddy Harrington and all his little ducklings.” Steve’s neck goes a little hot. “The rest of the freaks come, too? You got the whole circus in town?”

“Yeah.” Steve has to clear his throat a little. He keeps hearing _You just gotta let yourself feel it, pretty boy_ and has to put all of his focus on not letting it show on his face. “Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin too.”

Billy has a look of incomprehension on his face. “Wheeler and that vampire kid, right?”

“And Robin Buckley.” It still doesn’t seem like it’s ringing any bells, but Steve can’t think of a reason or place they would have met anyway. Robin didn’t really frequent the kinds of parties Steve and Billy went to. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You fucking her?”

“Fuck you,” Steve says. Billy tries to laugh but goes with one of his shark-tooth grins. 

“No judgment, man. All cats are gray in the dark.”

“We’re just friends.”

Billy does a half-snort, one that doesn’t shake his ribs so badly. “That’s what everyone says when they _want_ to be fucking.”

“No,” Steve says again. He’s starting to remember all of the reasons he and Billy didn’t get along in school. “Not gonna happen.”

Billy puts one of his hands up in surrender and makes a face like he’s touched a soft spot and Steve is overreacting about it. Steve ignores him.

xxx

The week passes slowly. It seems like everyone but Steve is in and out of the house. Some moments more than others the choice between staying in with Billy and facing the possibility of running into anyone he went to high school with is hard.

Billy spends most of his time staring expressionless at the ceiling or trying to start a fight with one of them. Steve starts to wonder if Billy could be legitimately insane, even more than he was before. He won’t answer any questions about the last year and a half and pitches a fit whenever Steve or Jonathan walk him to the bathroom. He has a pretty significant limp and still needs substantial aid getting around, at least until his body actually starts to heal.

Billy only eats a little bit at a time, mostly plain toast or some soup that’s probably been in the cupboard since Steve was a kid. He says that anything more than that makes him queasy. The cut Robin made is healing well and he lets her change the bandage and apply antibacterial cream on the condition that nobody else is in the room when she does it. He does that with the shower, too; he lets them walk him as far as the bathroom before he shuts the door in their faces. Robin told Steve one night when it was just the two of them sitting downstairs that he’s probably embarrassed of the scars.

“He fucking died,” Steve had argued. “No shit he has scars. He doesn’t have to be embarrassed. You know how many scars I have from dealing with this shit?”

“You weren’t an Adonis before,” Robin shot back. “Girls aren’t going to be tripping over themselves anymore when he walks into a room. He’s got a limp and really noticeable scars all over his body, and to top it off, we shaved his head.”

Steve wanted to say that none of that matters but couldn’t even convince himself.

Max naps in the bed beside Billy, shifting as close to him as he’ll let her. He usually just stares at the ceiling until she wakes up, then listens to her talk with a perplexed look on his face like he’s trying to figure out if he’s dreaming. Steve can’t really gauge what their relationship is like now, but he’s not sure they can either.

“Hey,” Steve says, “sorry to interrupt.”

Nancy, Jonathan, Will, and El headed back to Wisconsin that morning to beat the spring break traffic. Steve and Robin are leaving tomorrow around noon, maybe, or later depending on how hard it is to leave. He always forgets how much he misses Dustin when they’re apart.

Max rubs at her eye and waves him in. He can’t tell if she’s been crying, but Billy definitely has. “What’s up?” she says.

“I wanted to talk to you guys about tomorrow.” He doesn’t look at Billy. 

“Oh, we already talked about it,” Max says. “If it’s okay, he’s gonna go with you. It seems like the safest option.”

“Cool.” He chances a glance over at Billy, who’s staring blankly at the wall behind Steve. “Billy, is that good with you?”

“Do I have a choice?” Steve can’t argue with that.

“Can I come visit over the summer?” Max asks. “I’ve never been to Chicago. I can tell Neil I’m going to El’s for a week or something.” Her eyes get bigger. “Or maybe El can come to Chicago too? I heard there are beaches and that you can stand on a glass floor in the Sears Tower at the top and you can see, like, the _whole_ city from there.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He can’t think that far ahead. Billy might not even be around anymore. He doesn’t look all too thrilled to be going back with them anyway. “Yeah, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Just before dusk, Robin and Dustin come up to give Max a ride home. Steve hands over his keys and stretches his arms, a little stiff from sitting on the floor for so long. Max helps Billy sit up a little so she can hug him goodbye; he wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. When they part, tears are running down Max’s face.

“I love you,” she whispers to him, then slides off the bed. “Please take care of him,” she says to Steve. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her against his chest. 

“We’ll be okay.” Dustin and Robin are in the hallway waiting for her and they all go downstairs together. The ensuing silence makes Steve a little nervous. “So, you want some dinner?”

“What’s there in Chicago?” Billy asks. He ignores Steve’s question, which he’s been doing pretty consistently. Steve gets that he doesn’t want to talk about himself, but they’re also going to need to know what happened sooner or later, just in case the Mind Flayer isn’t totally gone.

“School,” Steve says. “Plus, it’s not Hawkins, which is the number one appeal.”

Billy’s brow pinches. “You didn’t get in anywhere. Tommy said you got rejected from all your schools.”

Steve’s neck heats up immediately. One of the perks of living outside of Hawkins is telling people it was an _entirely intentional gap year_. He’d forgotten that Tommy used to give him shit about it in the locker room senior year. Billy had been around; of course he would have known. All of it seems so distant.

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs.

“I was going home after I graduated.” Billy clears his throat but doesn’t continue.

“To California?” Billy nods. “Better weather than here, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but eventually, he tells Steve, “I think you’d like it.” His voice is stronger now, maybe edging along his signature cockiness. Steve is used to the mood swings by this point. Mostly it’s just gotten tiresome.

“I’m sure I would,” Steve says. To his surprise, Billy gives him a filthy once-over; Steve goes warm around the collar, which Billy can probably see given how hard his eyes are boring into Steve’s skin.

“Beaches mean hot girls, Harrington.” He goes for his shark-smile but falls just short of its full effect. “Hot girls in California are never there to stay.”

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“Sex? Or girls?”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re a dick.” He keeps looking at Billy though, thinking about nothing and everything and how they might as well be friends if they’re going to live together. “I have a girlfriend,” he says. “Gia.”

“Gia,” Billy repeats thoughtfully. “Never fucked a Gia.”

“Well, too bad that streak is going to continue.” Steve grabs the cup of water on the desk and brings it over to Billy. He wants to dump it over his head to take out all of the frustration that’s bubbled up over the past week, but he doesn’t. “When was the last time you had water?”

“Fine, _Mom_ , I’ll drink some. Lay off.” 

But when he takes a sip, he half-smiles at Steve over the top of the glass, eyes twinkling, and, for the first time, Steve feels like Billy’s equal.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You forgot about Gia because you like him,” Robin says. 
> 
> “He’s a dick,” Steve says.
> 
> “Yeah, in high school, before he died and apparently grew the balls to flirt with guys, like, in front of other people.”
> 
> “He grew the -- flirting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: Lying in a relationship, emotional cheating, guilt, blowjob, homophobic slurs (period-typical; from Billy only), Steve drinks away his sorrows, sober person kissing a drunk person, jealousy, accidental outing, disordered eating, depressive episode

“Living room,” Steve says, pointing. “Kitchen. Bathroom’s down there on the left; Robin’s on the right, right here off the kitchen; and I’m across from the bathroom.” Billy stands in the middle of the kitchen, looking out of place in Steve’s dad’s button-up and slacks, his head shaved. From behind, he could be a completely different person.

“Make yourself at home,” Robin tells him. She uses her elbow to twist open her door and drop her backpack inside. “Towels and junk are under the sink.”

“Thanks,” Billy says quietly.

“You can stay in my room,” Steve says. Robin’s home more than he is, so it only seems fair that he gives up his room. “Come on, I’ll give you the lay of the land.”

Billy follows him quietly. He’s still limping, but the cut Robin made on his stomach is healing well and doesn’t seem to pull as much. Steve, on the other hand, still looks like he’s been through the wringer, but at least his black eyes are starting to turn a color other than purple. He’s already been brainstorming what he’s going to tell people when they ask, because they will. The only real difference between high school and college is that there are more people around, and none of them saw the shit haircut he had in fifth grade.

“Here it is,” Steve says, throwing his arms out wide. He could probably touch both walls with the full width of his arm span. He feels inescapably awkward so he dumps his bag on his desk and rifles through its contents, just to have something to do. It’s mostly laundry, so he drops it into the overflowing hamper next to his closet. Billy is giving the twin bed a look of intense concentration like he’s never seen a mattress before. “It’s not much, but mi casa is your casa, or whatever.”

Billy blinks, coming back into his own head, and nods, then shuffles over to the slightly off-kilter shelf that Steve nailed into the wall when they first moved in. The few books he has are stacked on top of each other to stop his cassettes from sliding off. Steve watches him touch the cases one at a time, shifting some over so he can look at the second row of tapes.

“I’ll change the sheets,” Steve says. “Probably need to be washed anyway.”

“I can do it.” Whenever he gets into one of his small and quiet moods, Steve’s brain immediately sends danger signals to the rest of his body, because what is Billy trying to get at, being so nice? He has to remind himself constantly that Billy has PTSD and it’s not him scheming. But there’s still that voice in the back of his head, whispering, _but what if he is_. Most of the time, that voice sounds like Dustin.

“Suit yourself. They’re in the bottom drawer of the dresser.” 

He watches Billy strip the bed, self-consciously put the sheets in Steve’s hamper, and pull out a fresh fitted sheet and some pillowcases. He keeps glancing over at Steve like he’s waiting for him to say something, but Steve can’t think of anything to say that isn’t some form of _what did you do in that cabin all those months?_

Both of them jump when the buzzer rings in the hallway. “I got it,” Robin calls. Then, a moment later, “Steve, it’s for you.”

Gia pokes her head in through the front door, which Robin left propped open for her.

“Hi,” Steve says, already halfway down the hall. She smiles but ducks away from his kiss. He pulls back, confused, but gets sidetracked by her fingers going up to touch the edges of his black eyes.

“ _Povorino_ ,” she says quietly. The cuts on his forehead are scabbed over, too, but he keeps itching his face by accident and pulling them off. She touches those too, fingertips light. “What happened?”

“Someone tried to steal my car.” It sounds sort of lame, but it was the only thing Steve could come up with. Half of him wanted to go with something heroic and half of him wanted something too mundane for follow-up questions. It was a really hard decision. “Got hit a couple of times, but they ran off after they attacked me, so at least I still have the beemer.”

“ _Povorino_ ,” she says again. “Steve, why did you not call me?”

“It was on the way back up when we stopped for gas,” he says. “We just got home, like, half an hour ago.” He does a half-gesture towards his bedroom and Billy over his shoulder, then remembers she doesn’t know he’s here. She shakes her head a little bit, brow furrowed as she stares up at him. And then -- “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, _oh, fuck_ ,” she says, and then he feels way worse because her eyes start filling up with tears. Shit, fuck, how did he forget about _Wisconsin_. 

“Babe, I am _so sorry_.”

“It’s okay if you wanted to go home,” she says quietly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I just wish you told me.”

“No, no, I _did_ want to go. I promise, babe. I swear, something came up and I forgot--”

“You _forgot_?”

“That one’s on me,” Billy says behind him. Steve’s mouth snaps shut as Billy comes up to stand beside him, and he’s _definitely_ playing this up. He’s leaning hard into the limp and his shirt is off, revealing the patchy ink-black scars spiderwebbing out across his skin. The cut on his chest is pink and raised, healing well. It’s not like he has to perform with scars when he has scars that look like that, but he is anyway. For _Steve_. He even leans a bit against the opposite wall like he needs it for support but is trying to play it off casually. “I’m Billy. I was in a car accident and he came down to help with some of the rehab. Coulda been much worse.”

Gia’s eyes are wide as they dart over Billy’s chest.

“If I had stopped to think, I would have called,” Steve says. “It was four-thirty in the morning, and when I got back to Hawkins, it was really -- I wasn’t thinking about anything besides making sure he was okay.” His stomach lurches and he feels like absolute shit, lying to Gia like this. Half-lying. He’s never _not_ going to be lying about this kind of stuff, and doesn’t that thought make him feel worse.

“I’m glad you could be there for him,” she says. Steve can’t read her tone.

“Me too,” Billy says. Steve looks over to him and they hold eye contact for long enough that Steve starts to realize how long they’ve been looking at each other. He clears his throat and looks back at Gia.

“We played basketball together,” Steve says, mostly because he _needs_ to say something true. “I wasn’t all that good, but we played together for -- a year, almost, right?”

“Shut up,” Billy says. “You and me, best on the team.” _Plant your feet, draw a charge._ “All the other idiots skated by on the luck that there aren’t more high schoolers in Hawkins and that everyone in Indiana is fucking white.” 

“You really think so?”

“Hell yeah. You think I’d mess with someone like Tommy? Fuck no, he could barely tell the ball from his own head.” For a moment, Steve can only stand there with his mouth open in surprise.

“In his defense,” he says finally, “he does have a really big head.”

“How long will you be in Chicago, Billy?” Gia asks. 

Billy doesn’t miss a beat. “I guess until they discharge me from physical therapy. Not that many good doctors in Hawkins.”

“I hope it’s a smooth recovery. Please let me know what I can do to help. Steve has my number, even if he does not remember how to use it sometimes.” She pinches Steve’s side and leans into him when he wraps his arms around her.

“I’m really sorry,” Steve says. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Don’t come over this week. I’m still mad at you.” He goes to follow her to the front door, but she puts a hand on his chest so he doesn’t. 

“Wait, really?”

“I waited a week for you,” she says, only turning around when she’s at the door. “ _Ciao_ , Robin. Nice to meet you, Billy.” Steve half-collapses against the wall as she shuts the door. Billy does a low whistle and Robin comes over from the living room.

“Damn, Steve,” she says. 

“I know,” he says miserably.

“And damn _Billy_ ,” she continues. Billy looks confused. “How did you even think of all that?”

Billy shrugs and ducks around the door of Steve’s room to get his shirt off the bed. “I’ve had to do a lot of lying. Dad always on my ass, you know how it goes.”

“Thanks for talking me up with the basketball stuff.” Steve goes to clap him on the shoulder, but catches himself at the last second. His brain short circuits and he ends up doing an awkward little _boop_ on Billy’s nose instead. He can practically hear the screech of Robin’s dry erase marker drawing a tally under _Steve is a dingus_. The board in the kitchen has 17 tallies for _dingus_ and 0 for _rad as fuck_.

Billy just blinks at him and scrunches his nose. “You,” he starts, then shakes his head. He’s still smiling a little bit. “The trick to a good lie to stick as close to the truth as possible. You’re a good player, I wasn’t lying about that. You were the only other person on that team with any sort of talent. I honestly wasn’t really thrilled about playing without you after you graduated, but turns out that didn’t really matter.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Uhh, I mean. You’re -- you’re good, too. At basketball.”

Billy arches an eyebrow. “All right, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. I’m gonna go shower before you hurt yourself.” He pauses, just looking at Steve for a moment, and then his hand comes up and he presses the tip of his finger against Steve’s nose. “ _Boop_ ,” he says, the end of it turning into a laugh. _A giggle_ , if Steve didn’t know better.

Robin watches Billy limp away before her eyes snap over to Steve.

“Why,” she says. “Why why _why_ would you make me watch you get your ass kicked by your girlfriend, and then _subject me_ to this weird mating ritual you two are apparently going to make a thing.”

“I,” Steve starts. It feels like the last twenty minutes equate to _at least_ two hours, and he hasn’t had time to process any of it. He hasn’t even taken a _leak_ since they got home. “What?”

“You forgot about Gia because you like him,” Robin says. 

“He’s a dick,” Steve says.

“Yeah, in _high school_ , before he died and _apparently_ grew the balls to flirt with guys, like, in front of other people.”

“He grew the -- _flirting?_

She stares at him like she’s trying to figure out if he’s fucking with her. “Don’t act like you can’t tell when someone is flirting with you.”

“He’s a guy,” Steve says. “Plus, he does that to _everyone_.”

“He didn’t hit on Jonathan,” she says. “Or Nancy, or me, or Gia. Come on, he’s _clearly_ different than he was in high school.” Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he just keeps looking at her in confusion. “Sex dreams can complicate feelings, but it’s okay if you like him.”

“That’s insane,” he says.

“Steve, _come on_. He _definitely_ would have gone down on you if you asked real sweet ‘n nice-like.”

“Why are you so stuck on him being gay?”

She makes a face. “I shouldn’t have told you that. It’s not our business. _But_ he did just boop you back instead of -- I don’t know, what do guys even do -- chest-bump you or something.”

“Oh my God,” he says. “If it’s not our business, let’s not talk about it.”

Robin puts her hands up. “Okay! All right. We won’t talk about it. If you change your mind, I am still here for you, even though I sort of want to smack you right now. For the attitude, and for ditching your girlfriend for your sex dream boyfriend.”

Steve wants to say forgetting about Wisconsin wasn’t his fault, but there’s no getting around how fucking _stupid_ he must be to forget he has a girlfriend for _an entire week_. The situation’s weird, he’ll give himself that, but knowing he ditched Gia for somebody who almost killed him multiple times makes his stomach tie itself into knots.

Instead of dealing with it like he should, Steve grabs Robin around the waist, tackles her to the ground, and won’t let up until she cries uncle.

xxx

“How’s ethics treating you?” Christopher asks him. They’re standing at South Union eating the kebabs they bought from the vendor who hangs out at the corner.

“It’s fine,” Steve says, shrugging. “Rothschild is fine, I guess. His quizzes aren’t too hard. It counts for one of my gen eds, so it’s a win all around.”

“Yeah, it’s an easy class. If you want my notes from last semester, they’re yours.” He’s rubbing his fingers together in discomfort and Steve passes over one of his napkins so he can wipe his hands. “Thanks, man.”

“Did Wendy end up declaring?”

“Yeah, she went with criminology.” Steve makes an impressed face. “I know. Her classes are really intense.”

“ _Please_ don’t give him any more ideas.” Robin appears at his shoulder along with Clara, who smiles at both of them. Their arms are linked at the elbow and Steve is a little taken with how happy Robin looks.

“Hey now,” Clara says. “We called dibs on him, remember?”

“You really think anyone would be okay giving _this_ _guy_ a gun?” Robin shakes her head. “Police officer was on his short list, but we nixed it, because he’s a walking mess.”

“Criminology isn’t just being a police officer,” Steve shoots back. He’s not sure though, so he half-glances over at Christopher, who nods. Robin rolls her eyes. 

“Gimme your credit card,” Robin says, making grabby hands at Steve. “I want to get Billy some new clothes so I don’t have to look at _his_ dick through _your_ sweatpants anymore. I can only take so much.”

Steve’s ears burn as he hands over the credit card. “They fit better than my dad’s.”

“It depends on your definition of better. Do they fall down around his ass a little when he walks now? No. Can I now see, in stark relief, which way he hangs? Yes.”

“Can he not get his own clothes?” Christopher asks.

“He won’t leave the house,” Steve tells him.

“PTSD,” Robin adds. “He’s a little agoraphobic. We’re working on it.”

He and Christopher follow the girls to the Gap, mostly so Steve can wrestle his card back from Robin. Christopher goes off looking for a nice button-down for interviews while Robin picks through plain tee shirts, tanks, and sweatshirts. She ends up with a pair of jeans, a pair of flannel pajama pants decorated with Looney Tunes characters, a pair of sweatpants, and three long sleeve-shirts.

“It’s April,” he tells her while they wait in line to pay. “He’s going to want short sleeves eventually. Do you not remember how he dressed in high school?”

She looks at him like he’s dumb. “Steve, have you seen him recently?” She keeps staring at him like she’s expecting an answer, so he nods. “Does he look like he’s in the mood to show off his body right now?”

Steve chews on his lip while the cashier rings their stuff up. He hasn’t seen Billy’s scars since that first night back in Chicago, when Gia came by. He keeps forgetting they exist.

“I’m stopping at Dale’s, too,” Robin says when they get outside.

“You’re in nursing,” Steve says. “When do you even have _time_ to read?”

She makes a face at him. “They’re for Billy. What do you think he does all day?”

“I can lend some books too if he wants,” Clara says. 

“I didn’t even know he could read.”

“He sat behind you in English class, you dingus,” she says. Steve forgot about that, but -- yeah. Billy did sit behind him. Steve figured he spent the class period chewing on his pencil and leering at girls, or scheming up new ways to harass Steve. He never thought that Billy might have actually read anything. He never talked in class and Steve didn’t ever see him turn any assignments in.

Dale’s smells exactly what Steve would expect a secondhand bookstore to smell like. He wanders around while Robin talks to one of the clerks about recommendations, until Clara pops up from behind a shelf and pulls him over to poke through the social work section. Robin spends half an hour looking through books before she comes over with a small stack.

“What do you think,” she says, passing them to Steve, Clara, and Christopher. Steve looks at the covers and shrugs.

“They look boring.”

“Sorry, I should have been more specific. My literate friends: what do _you_ think?”

They end up with _It_ by Stephen King, _Strangers_ by Dean Koontz, _You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense_ by Charles Bukowski, and _Wanderlust_ by Danielle Steel. He thinks maybe Dustin had mentioned Stephen King before, but he doesn’t really remember and he definitely doesn’t care.

The way Billy smiles at Robin when she gives him the books makes his stomach swoop anyway.

xxx

“Billy,” Steve calls, hip checking Gia in tune to the music she has playing on the radio. They’ve been cooking together once a week since he forgot about their spring break plans, which she maintains guarantees set plans for them to do something together. Steve knows she likes the domesticity of it, though, especially when she shows him out to cook a chicken like her mom does, and when she stands on his feet so they can dance around the kitchen, clumsy and goofy, while they’re waiting for the potatoes to boil. “Come grab a plate, man.”

He still isn’t eating very much. He says it’s because he doesn’t have an appetite, but Robin told Steve she thinks it’s because he forgets to eat sometimes after going for so long on so little. They’ve made it their personal mission to make sure he eats at least once a day. Preferably more.

“Billy,” he calls again, louder this time. The bedroom door opens quietly. “Come on, it’s chicken, potatoes, and some artichoke. You don’t even have to socialize, I promise.”

Billy pauses in the doorway, looking awkward and uncomfortable. “Hi,” he says to Gia.

“ _Ciao_ , Billy. How are you feeling?”

He shrugs and watches Steve fill up a plate for him. “I’m okay. Steve, that’s too much.”

“Too late,” Steve says, pushing the plate into Billy’s hands. God, he’s so skinny. He looks less gaunt in the face, but he’s still slight in a way he wasn’t in high school. He’s not working out anymore either and is going to look even thinner when his muscles are gone. 

Billy’s mouth twists unpleasantly, but he takes the plate anyway.

“Eat a little,” Steve says quietly. “For me. Okay?”

Billy looks up at him and holds his gaze for a minute like he’s looking for an ulterior motive, but he must not find anything there because he deflates. “Okay.”

“Is he really all right?” Gia asks Steve when they’re sitting at the table, the fruits of their labor spread out between them. Steve leans over to fill up her wine glass. “I do not see him often, but he always seems unwell.” 

Steve shrugs and his mouth full of artichokes so he can delay answering. “He’s okay,” he says eventually. “The crash really messed him up, but he’s hanging in there.”

She nods and doesn’t push. They talk about the villa her family is renting for the summer and about her plans to travel to Switzerland with friends from home. Nothing has really been going on with Steve outside of Billy’s sudden rise from the dead and the intrusive, inexplicable butterflies Steve keeps getting when they look at each other for too long, but he can’t really talk about that, so he keeps asking her questions. She gets the hint pretty quickly.

After they finish eating and cleaning up, Gia pulls him over to the couch and presses him back into his pillows. They make out for a while, long enough that Steve is starting to feel the buzz of arousal even though he could honestly pass on sex if she’s not interested. She starts to smile against his mouth though once she feels his erection pressing against her.

“I want to go down on you,” she says.

“Billy’s in the other room,” Steve tells her. He gets lost in the kiss again.

“We’ll be quiet,” she whispers, reaching down to palm him through his jeans. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t stop her, so she smiles at him and slides to the floor. He shifts until he can throw his knees out into a vee.

Steve has gotten a lot of blowjobs from a lot of different girls, but Gia is one of the few who genuinely seems to like sucking dick. She told him once that it’s art. Practice makes perfect. Always something else to learn. She takes in almost all of him and brushes her fingers against his balls, and it’s everything he can do to stop from fucking up into her face. He clenches his fists in the fabric of the couch behind him and drops his head back. He can feel in the tightness of his muscles that he’s going to sleep well tonight.

Music kicks up from Steve’s room so suddenly that Gia almost bites down on him when she jumps. There’s a thump against the wall, but the door doesn’t open, and Billy doesn’t walk in on this. Steve’s mind drifts without him realizing. He thinks about what Billy would do if he came into the living room to see them. Would he get himself underneath Gia and fuck her while she gets Steve off, or would he push Gia aside and get Steve off himself, or would he get up on the couch and push himself into Steve’s mouth. What would he _do_.

Steve gets so lost in his head that his balls tighten and he’s spilling into Gia’s mouth and down over her chin before he even comes back to himself. His body feels good as fuck. Gia leans up to wipe her face on his shirt and Steve takes another breath before he puts his dick away.

“Now you?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really feel like fingering her. Common courtesy, or whatever. He can still feel a distant thrum of arousal and he’s dazed enough that he can tell himself it’s because of Gia and not the image of Billy pulling him back by his hair and fucking his face. 

“No,” she says. She’s looking at him with a strange expression, one that he hasn’t seen before and can’t read. She gets up off the ground and lets her hair back down. “I need to go home. I will see you tomorrow, Steve.”

Steve gets up to walk her to the door. At the threshold, she leans up to kiss him distractedly, then pulls the door shut behind her. Without her, the apartment suddenly seems strange and quiet, even with Billy’s music playing from the bedroom. He doesn’t even think it’s been a minute since he’d come. But things still feel off, even with their weekly dinners, so maybe this is just their new normal.

He showers, mostly so he has time to be alone with the tremendous guilt he’s starting to feel. He doesn’t even know when his want for Billy became want for _Billy_ , but now it feels like he’s drowning in it. He stays in the shower long enough that it starts to run cold and his fingers prune, then gets out and stands in the middle of the bathroom, naked and wet and wondering how to get back to his makeshift bedroom without maybe running into Billy in the hallway. He’s so in his head that he puts his underwear on without drying off first.

Unfortunately, Billy is leaning up against the kitchen sink drinking a glass of water when Steve finally emerges. It’s only nine o’clock, which feels way too early to pretend to go to bed, but Billy goes to bed at two in the afternoon, so what does he know?

“Hi,” Steve says. It comes out too cheerful to not be suspicious. Billy ignores him.

“You want to watch a movie?” he asks. “I saw you had the _Terminator_. I haven’t seen it since I was, like, sixteen.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, yeah. Yeah. That sounds good. Yeah.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll make popcorn.”

Billy shakes his head and lightly bumps their shoulders together as he passes on his way to Steve’s bedroom. “You are so weird,” he says.

Steve makes popcorn over the stove in a mindless sort of daze, trying to convince himself he didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t cheat on her. He thought of other girls plenty while he was dating Nancy. That wasn’t cheating. Just because Billy’s a guy doesn’t make it any different. Right?

Billy comes out of Steve’s room wearing one of Steve’s UIC sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants that are _way_ too tight on him, despite his new wardrobe _actually_ fitting him. Steve’s mouth goes dry and he just _looks_ for a second, almost forgetting that Billy can see him.

“Is this okay?” His eyes flick up and away from Billy’s thighs to his face. He looks nervous, almost, but he holds Steve’s gaze. “You said I could--”

“Oh!” Steve knows he looks like a deer in headlights; he can just _feel_ it. “Yeah, no no no. Totally fine. I’ll, uh. You can pop the tape in, I’ll be there in a sec.” Billy keeps looking at him, so Steve turns around and shakes the kernels around the bottom of the pot. After a moment, Billy shuffles into the living room.

He’s been doing that a lot. Waiting for Steve or Robin to turn away so they don’t see the way his right leg drags a little bit. None of them mention it.

Steve dumps the popcorn into a mixing bowl and grabs two beers from the fridge. Billy is sitting with one leg kicked up onto the coffee table, head tilted back against the couch. His hair is starting to grow back, just a little; stubble that he keeps running his hand over. He opens one eye and shakes his head when Steve offers him a beer.

“If you want it,” Steve says awkwardly, setting it on the table next to Billy’s foot.

“I won’t,” Billy says. Steve kicks his feet up on the coffee table too and Billy hits play on the movie. For the first ten minutes, Billy bounces his leg and scratches his fingernails along the ridges of the corduroy couch. By minute fifteen, Steve can’t take it anymore. “Would you cut it out?”

“You have fun with Gia?” Billy asks, almost before Steve is done talking. He stops shaking his leg but still skates his thumbnail up and down the corduroy.

“Fuck off,” Steve says. He wishes he’d had the foresight to turn the light off before sitting down. It would be nice if Billy couldn’t see how red his face is.

“Man’s gotta get off some way or another.”

Steve doesn’t respond. He keeps his eyes on the TV, but he’s so hyper aware of where Billy is on the couch that he’s not processing any of it. His skin is prickling. He was sitting right here when he came, thinking of Billy. He wishes for a second that the floor would just open up and swallow him, but he wouldn’t put it past the Upside Down to create a sinkhole in his living room, so he shakes that thought away.

“Where’s Robin?” Billy asks, and Steve is so focused on not beating himself up that he actually jumps. “Woah there.”

“It’s fine,” Steve says. “I’m fine.”

Billy just looks at him. “Great. Where’s Robin?”

Steve rubs a fist against his eye to try and get rid of the thoughts and the feelings and the sudden interest in Billy’s shoulders stretching out his sweatshirt. He’s still skinny, but some parts of him are bigger, muscular. His biceps. His forearms. His thighs. Steve shoves his other fist into his other eye and rubs hard enough that he sees sparks.

“She’s staying at her girlfriend’s,” Steve says, then freezes. He drops his hands from his face and sees Billy looking at him, eyebrow cocked again. “I mean. You know, like. Her _girlfriend_. Go to the mall together, blah blah blah. You know how girls are. Boys and, and -- hair products.”

“Right.” Billy says it so slowly that Steve can _see_ the cogs turning in his head. He clearly doesn’t believe Steve, which is _annoying_. “Girlfriend.”

“Yeah. Or friend. Like--” It takes him way too long to think of two girls they have in common. “Like Max and El. You know. Sleepovers, pillow fights.” He makes a half-hearted movement with his hands like he’s swinging a pillow. Robin is going to be _so angry_. At least the panic killed his hard-on.

“God, there really is nothing up there, huh.” Billy tilts his head and keeps squinting at Steve. “If you didn’t add all that bullshit trying to explain it away, I wouldn’t have even noticed.” Steve blinks at him and Billy sighs, but it sounds mostly like it’s for dramatic effect. “Okay, _fine_ , I would have noticed. She’s obviously a dyke. I figured that out, like, the second she opened her mouth.”

Steve is so angry and confused and _stupid_ that he whites out for a second. Then he’s standing up and looking down at Billy, whose chin is tilted up a little like he’s sizing Steve up. The movie is still on in the background.

“You wanna talk like that, you can get the fuck out of here.”

Billy stands and walks almost leisurely around the coffee table to Steve’s other side, taking his time, eyes never leaving Steve’s face. He’s grinning, teeth bared, and he only stops when he and Steve are almost chest-to-chest. He smells like _Steve_ \-- his cologne, his shampoo -- and it’s _infuriating._ He’s barely taller than Billy, maybe an inch or two, but it feels like barely anything at all. His face is right there. He wonders idly if Billy is going to punch him.

“You a cocksucker, Harrington?” Billy asks in an undertone. He sticks his tongue out and drops his eyes to Steve’s mouth, and Steve’s entire body runs hot and cold. The line between anger and arousal is blurred to shit and he’s so, so _confused_. “Bet a pretty boy like you’d get on his knees and take it real good.” He sways his hips forward against Steve, and Steve somehow manages to bite back whatever noise claws up his throat when Billy bumps up against his swollen dick. Billy is hard too; he felt it against his hip. But Billy is never _not_ hard, and he’s probably thinking about Robin and another girl anyway. Plus, he’s an asshole that called Robin a dyke and Steve needs to focus on that. 

Somehow, somehow, he manages to grate out, “Fuck you.”

Billy cackles, throwing his head back, and moves out of Steve’s space, taking the heat and electricity with him. “Night, Harrington,” he says. He winks and reaches around to slap Steve’s ass on the way out of the room.

xxx

Steve is up all night, going over it again and again in his head and still coming to the same conclusion: _what the fuck_. He doesn’t see Billy the next morning and thinks about it all throughout his first real social work advisory meeting. 

“I made you this chart,” Mr. Hirota says, sliding a few pieces of paper across the table. “We can fill in together what we think works for your general education requirements. For your final two years, I filled in some of the common classes that students take, but we can map it out until your second year, if you want. So we have you this semester doing a good mix of your gen eds, but I want to see you in some sciences next year. Let’s do Human Development for one of those and maybe Psychology for the other. What do you think?”

Steve gets home late from his managerial economics study group and finds Billy sitting on the floor between the living room and the hallway, dozing against the wall. He has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he’s wearing socks that Steve’s never seen before.

Steve shuts the front door as quietly as possible and steps over Billy’s outstretched legs and into the kitchen so he can put his bag on the back of his chair. Then he tiptoes down the hall and slides into the bathroom as quietly as he can. _Fuck_. There’s no way to avoid him. He takes a shower and draws it out as long as possible, hoping that Billy will have gone back into Steve’s bedroom by the time he gets out.

No dice.

Billy’s face is scrunched like he’d just woken up and Steve swallows so hard he’s sure Billy can hear it from down the hall. Steve doesn’t know what Billy wants to talk about, but whatever it is, Steve is pretty sure he’d be happier if they didn’t.

“Hey,” Billy says. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I was waiting for you.”

“I see that,” Steve says. “Uhh, why?”

Billy looks up at him and blinks hard like he’s trying to clear auras from his vision. He looks back down at his hands. “I wanted to say sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that shit last night.” Steve doesn’t know what to say so he just stares until Billy starts to fidget and push himself up to his feet.

“No, I’ll,” Steve starts, and drops down onto the floor next to Billy, back against the wall. Their legs aren’t quite touching but Steve can feel how warm Billy is and leans into it before he can stop himself. They sit quietly for a few minutes. Billy is fidgeting again.

He makes a sudden movement and Steve turns his face on instinct, for some reason expecting Billy’s hand to slide onto his jaw and pull him in. But Billy drops something into his lap and looks away instead.

“What’s this?” Steve says, blushing hard at how stupid he feels. He tries to cover it up by tilting his head further to crack his neck. The thing in his lap is a cassette; the shrink wrap crinkles in his hands. _Joshua Tree_.

“It’s,” Billy says, then goes to take it back. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

Steve holds it up out of his reach. “No take-backs,” he says. He waits for Billy to retract his arm before he rips off the plastic to look more closely at the cover art and at the track list.

“I saw the Sting poster in your room,” Billy mutters. “Similar vibe. Thought you might like it.” He clears his throat and looks away, down towards the living room. “Sorry.”

Steve bumps his knuckle against Billy’s thigh and holds it there until Billy looks back at him. “Thank you.”

“I don’t mind.” Billy swallows hard. “If you’re a -- if you’re into dudes or whatever.”

Steve doesn’t want to say _thanks_ but he also doesn’t want to say _I’m not into guys_ , because both lead him down a path he’s not ready to go down. He derails the conversation by saying, “You went out.” He can’t tell how obvious the segue is because Billy just looks down at his hands.

“Just to the mall. I needed some clothes and shit. I used your spare key and some of the money you left. Change is on the coffee table.”

“Keep the change, man. Buy whatever you want.”

“It’s your money,” Billy says. “Actually -- _technically_ , you bought that for yourself.”

Steve laughs and the tension starts to drain out of the room. 

“I’m glad you finally got to go out. Rejoin the land of the living and all that.”

Billy gives him a sideways look. “Not sure if you can call what I’m doing living.”

Steve runs a hand through the hair on the back of his head. “Look, if you ever want to talk about it… all the monsters and the Russians and the _bullshit_ \-- it fucks you up, man. I’ve fought all sorts of shit, things you wouldn’t believe if you never saw. I still have nightmares about the first time. When Will went missing, you know?” He pauses in case Billy wants to say something, but he just pulls his knees up to his chest to hide his face. “And all those gag orders -- we can’t say anything to _anyone_. My mom and dad don’t know. They just see Starcourt on fire and hear that I was one of the people inside, and then they freak out and decide to run for Parent of the Year. But they don’t know what actually happened.”

Billy inhales deeply and exhales slowly.

“You don’t deal with that alone,” Steve says quietly. Billy turns his face so he’s looking over at Steve, chin resting on his knee, and Steve can feel his ears turn red. “We’re here if you ever need to talk.”

Billy’s arm finds his and they’re sharing warmth, arms pressed together. “Thanks,” Billy says. He keeps looking at Steve and Steve keeps looking at him. When Billy sits up, he’s even closer to Steve.

“And, and,” Steve says. Billy is looking at his mouth and he wonders if he really _is_ being flirted with. “I know I’m not supposed to know about it, but you can -- if you ever need to talk about Damian--”

Billy recoils, jaw setting and eyes widening. He shifts away so their shoulders are no longer pressed together.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he says, voice quiet and dangerous. Steve has to cringe at his own tactlessness.

“No,” he says. “Sorry. I just meant, you know -- we don’t care about that. We don’t give a shit if you’re--”

Billy cuts him off. “Shut your fucking mouth before I punch it off your face.” He looks at Steve for another beat then hauls himself up and goes into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

xxx

Steve wakes up disoriented and feeling very, very strange, like someone’s in the room with him. His skin prickles and then there’s a hand at his throat, twisting itself into the top of his shirt.

“What,” Steve says. When his eyes finally adjust to the dark, he realizes it’s Billy kneeling next to the couch. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“What the _fuck_ do you know about Damian?” Billy asks through gritted teeth. Steve pulls at his wrist, trying to get him to let go of his shirt, but he just tightens his grip and gives Steve a shake. “I _said_ ,” Billy starts, and Steve finds his voice.

“Nothing,” he says. He wraps his fingers around Billy’s wrist as Billy shakes him again, harder when he doesn’t immediately continue his thought. “I don’t -- Billy let me _go_ , fuck -- I don’t know anything, man. I just had these dreams, and that’s how I knew where you were, and sometimes I was” -- he catches himself -- “sometimes I saw you hanging out with this guy named Damian, all right?”

“You had a fucking _dream_?”

“I know it sounds stupid,” Steve says quickly as Billy goes to shake him again. “I know, but -- hear me out, okay?”

To his surprise, Billy pauses. It’s too dark to see much more than his outline so Steve can’t tell what his expression looks like, but he stops gripping Steve’s shirt and goes back on his heels. Steve sits up slowly and rubs at his chest, eyes trained on Billy’s silhouette in case he tries to grab at Steve again.

“It sounds stupid,” he repeats. He takes a moment to wonder how much he should give away. There are things he doesn’t really want to tell anyone, obviously, but if it was Billy -- if it was Billy’s _memories_ \-- doesn’t he deserve to know? Would he _want_ to know? “Look, I don’t know why it happened, but they stopped after we found you.”

“Stop fucking stalling.”

“I’m not. _I’m not_.” His voice ticks up when he sees Billy’s shoulder shift a little higher, like his arm is about to shoot forward. “It started in September. I don’t know _why_ , I figured I was just making all of it up and -- when weird stuff happens, you know, sometimes you don’t _want_ to ask -- and at first it was just -- just pieces of you, like, your hand or the Camaro, that kind of thing.” He pauses to take a breath. “And then I started getting -- pieces of California. You in California with this guy. And then it was just the two of us in this pitch-black room with water all over the floor, and then you were in Hopper’s cabin and you looked at me and asked me for help.”

Not being able to see Billy’s face is almost more nerve-wracking than diving into the explanation itself, because Steve can’t tell if he’s about to get socked in the face or if Billy’s going to be the first one to believe him outright.

“I think they were memories,” he says when Billy continues to not say anything. “Up until that room and Hop’s cabin. I think -- I think they were real.”

Billy still hasn’t said anything. Steve’s skin starts to itch.

“Look, if you’re going to hit me, can you at least give me a little warning? My neck at this angle, you know, and I don’t want to get a crick in my neck --”

“What did you see?” Billy interrupts, voice quiet and rough. “What memories?”

The one he remembers most vividly -- there’s no way in _fuck_ he’s going to start there. The only one where it was him and Billy -- Billy touching _him_ , Steve Harrington. Not Steve Harrington masquerading as Damian. His skin flushes thinking about it. 

“A pier,” he says finally. “You were talking about surfing.” He stops for a few beats, praying that Billy gets up and leaves. He doesn’t. “And then -- camping in the mountains. You gave him a seashell. Black and white, said it was the two of you.”

Billy finally reacts; he leans back so he’s sitting on his ass instead of crouching. Steve closes his mouth with an audible click and stares at his shadow, tensed in case Billy decides to beat him to a pulp.

“The fuck,” Billy whispers.

“I don’t regret it,” Steve says, surprising himself. He realizes he’s trembling. “If I didn’t see that -- I wouldn’t -- maybe it was to make me feel sympathetic enough to find you. I don’t regret it, getting you out of there. I would do it again.”

Billy’s breath catches for a moment. “What did the black room look like?” he asks.

“Oh,” he says, a little thrown by the sudden change of focus. “I don’t know, uhh. It was this, this sort of darkness in all directions, except it echoed a lot, like a canyon or something. And there was water all over the floor and you could see your reflection in it, but it never got us wet, even when we sat in it. Dustin said Eleven goes there sometimes. To see things.”

Billy seems to nod in the darkness.

“Have you... been there?”

“Yes,” Billy says quietly. He sounds so far away. “With her.”

“Oh.” 

“Who did you tell?”

“Nobody,” Steve says immediately. “I mean, I told the freaks and everyone about that room and Hop’s cabin, but I didn’t tell anyone about Damian. I swear.”

Billy exhales slowly through his nose. It’s the only sound in the room.

“I swear,” Steve says again. “I had a hard enough time convincing everyone you were in the cabin. You wanna take a guess on how the Damian stuff would’ve gone down? I didn’t even believe it at first. Look, I was serious. Neither of us care. You can -- do whatever you want, you know. Bring -- bring guys home.”

Billy makes a sound almost like a chuckle. “No, I can’t.”

“You can,” Steve says again. “Just give us a head’s up and we can clear out, if you want the privacy. Or -- or you can just bring someone home. We won’t say anything.” He knows he’s babbling, but he can’t seem to stop. He realizes in that moment that Billy would be bringing home sometime to _Steve’s bed_. Something in his navel gives a sharp throb. “And if you ever want, you know, like -- company, or something.” He pauses, hoping it comes off as smooth and pointed and not panicked and fearing for his finally bruise-free face. “I’m around. All right?”

They sit in the dark in silence for another few minutes. Steve doesn’t know how to feel so he feels everything all at once, and then exhales it out. Or tries to, anyway.

Billy rocks forward onto his knees very suddenly; for a wild moment, Steve thinks that maybe he’d picked up what Steve had dropped -- that he had understood, is taking Steve up on it -- but he just follows the momentum to his feet and disappears back into the dark apartment. Steve can hear the bedroom door click shut from down the hall. His heart is pounding and he lays down, mouthing _what the fuck_ at the ceiling, at the walls, at himself, and falls asleep feeling unsettled and unsteady.

xxx

He and Gia haven’t had much time together since the night she blew him in the living room. She hasn’t been to his apartment and he hasn’t been to hers, and whenever they run into each other around campus, she always seems to be heading somewhere -- so when she appears at his elbow as he’s heading home from class, it startles him so much that he almost goes head first into a shrub.

“Let’s get lunch,” she says. 

They get hot dogs on poppy seed buns and sit on a bench in the park. There’s still a chill in the air and Gia shivers enough that Steve shrugs off his jacket to wrap around her shoulders. She leans into him.

“Steve, I think we should break up,” she says quietly. Steve spits a gob of wet hot dog bun onto the ground to stop himself from choking. Gia swings her feet onto the bench so she can wrap her arms around her knees, and watches as Steve empties his water bottle trying to clear the crud in his throat. The water only makes him feel queasier.

“No,” he says finally, voice croaky. He runs a hand through his hair, then puts his food onto the bench beside him to run the other through his hair, and leaves them knotted there against the back of his head. “I don’t… _why_?”

Gia looks out over the park and takes a deep breath. “I just -- I love you, Steve.”

“I love you too.”

“But.” She looks back at him, eyes determined and full of tears. 

“There’s a but.” He tries to remember his other breakups. Tries to match up what he’s feeling. He feels distracted and confused about so many things, and he’s not sure if he’s fully understanding what’s happening. Gia was one of the few things that grounded him.

“I cannot -- I just -- I don’t think I am right for you.” He opens his mouth to reply and she shakes her head at him. “No, no, listen. You have things that happened in your past and it is okay if you do not feel like talking about them. This is not about that. Steve, I am serious. Stop blaming yourself.”

Steve has taken to looking through the trees towards the street, hands still knotted in his hair. He can feel the dumb expression of absolute confusion on his face, and it almost hurts that she knows him well enough that she can see him starting to spiral into the Nancy-shaped hole of self-doubt.

“You and Billy,” she starts, but he shouts “ _What!_ ” and cuts her off. 

“Steve,” she tries.

“This is,” Steve says, but stops himself. _Bullshit_ , he was about to say. _Like we’re in love. Bullshit. You don’t love me?_

“You two have something we can never have,” Gia says quietly. Then, in a rush, like Steve is going to interrupt her again: “Whatever happened to the two of you -- you share it. You know each other in a way nobody else ever will. There is -- there is _something_ there, something more than that, and it is” -- she starts to cry -- “it’s _okay_ , Steve. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” he says. He feels dizzy. None of this is making sense. Billy is -- this thing with Billy, the want, the heat in his belly -- it’s in his _head_. He’s not trying to make anything happen. He’s not thinking about leaving her for him. She _can’t know_ , not any of it. He rubs at his eyes, wishing that the dreams that fucked this up in the first place could fix it. It would be nice to open his eyes and find that all of this is a dream.

“I am not what you need,” she continues.

“And he is?”

“Steve, it’s okay. I am not angry with you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you have to be angry about,” Steve says sharply, surprising them both. “There’s nothing -- I don’t know what you mean, _between me and Billy_. I don’t know what you mean. I love _you_ , Gia. Billy and I, yeah, we have -- some shared trauma, all right, but that doesn’t _mean_ \--”

“You said his name,” she says loudly. He stops talking. She wipes away some of her tears with the cuff of Steve’s jacket. “The last time we cooked dinner together. When you came, you--”

“No, I didn’t.” Steve flushes. His head is still spinning. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to know, because he didn’t do it.

Gia nods. “You did not -- I do not think you meant to say it, you just -- you said _yeah, Billy_ , and then.”

Steve shakes his head. “No.”

“It’s okay,” she says again.

“Stop saying that! It’s _not_ okay. What the hell. You’re breaking up with me because you think I want to fuck my friend?”

“Steve,” she says.

“I don’t get it. I know I fucked up with the Wisconsin thing, and I’m _sorry_ , I really -- I was the only one who could do anything and I know that sounds like a lie but it’s not. He would have died. They would have gotten him for _real_ this time, and I know that doesn’t make sense to you, but I just need you to believe me. But I can’t -- I can’t make up for it if you avoid me and don’t say anything to me and then _break up with me_. Fuck, Gia. Let me fix this.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes, just breathing. Steve gets up and paces because he needs the needle-prick of his jittery hands to _stop_.

“I am not mad,” she says, “and I do not care that he is a man.”

“I’m not--” He makes a frustrated noise and pulls at his hair. “What do you want me to say? You’re not listening to me. This is such a fucked-up reason to break up with someone. Because you _think_ there’s something between me and Billy? Because you _think_ he’s better for me than you are? When do I get to interject and tell you that you can’t decide that for me?”

“You are different than before he got here,” she says. “You changed and it’s not _bad_ , Steve. _That_ is how I can decide. He lights you up. I cannot anymore. You are so full of passion and life and I cannot give you that. Not like he can. I am not meant for who you are now. I…” She trails off to bury her face in her hands. Steve shakes out his arms and sits back down to pull her against his chest. “That is where it is my place to decide,” she says through her tears, “when I love you too much to not give you _everything_.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, still trying to process. No use arguing. No use saying, _I don’t want to fuck Billy_. He’s not going to lie to her. It’s not going to happen and it’s not a priority, will _never be_ a priority, but that doesn’t make it not true. He holds his breath so he doesn’t start crying into her hair and tries not to wonder if she’s right. If Billy really does bring something out in him. If Billy can only make him better.

xxx

Wendy opens the door when Steve knocks and immediately herds him inside.

“Christopher,” she calls. She winds an arm around Steve’s waist and helps him over to the couch, where he sits down heavily. He tries to take another deep pull from the bottle of vodka in his hand but she takes it away before he can.

“Hey,” he says.

“You, sir, have had enough,” she tells him, matter of fact. Steve blinks hard and smiles up at her.

“You’re like Nancy,” he says. Christopher comes into the room, hair stuck up like he’s been pulling at it. He’s wearing glasses, which means he’s writing a paper, and if Steve could look at him without one of his eyes shut to stop the world from spinning, he would feel bad for interrupting. “Christopher, she’s like Nancy except she doesn’t make me feel like I’m stupid. She’s like, she’s like my mom, except she doesn’t abandon me all the time.”

“Wow,” Wendy says. “All right.”

“I bet you would’ve written my college essay for me. Nancy wouldn’t. That’s why I didn’t get into college.”

“I definitely would not have done that.”

“Steve, what’s up?” Christopher appears in front of him with a glass of water. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough.” He takes the glass out of Christopher’s hand and drains it. “This isn’t vodka,” he says.

“It’s water.” Wendy grabs the glass from over Christopher’s shoulder and goes to fill it up. Steve gets a quarter of the way through the second glass before the world sways dangerously. He must look just as shit as he feels because one of them shoves a garbage can under his face in time for him to vomit into it.

“ _Steve_.” There’s something about how worried Wendy sounds when she says it that makes him start to cry.

“Gia broke up with me,” he says, voice muffled as someone wipes his mouth with a paper towel. His stomach is clenched and aching and he heaves again when it twists, but nothing else comes up. “I don’t, _I don’t_ \-- it was --”

He should have thought about this before he came over. Should have come up with a story to tell people before he drank almost an entire bottle of vodka in one go. All he can think about is how much he loves her and how he couldn’t even lie about Billy. She’s not wrong about so many things, and he realizes now just how much he neglected her once Billy was around.

“Oh, Steve,” Wendy says, smoothing a hand over his clammy forehead. It’s replaced a moment later by a cold washcloth. 

“I fucked it up,” he says. He leans back against the couch, starting to feel weak and dizzy, and Christopher moves the garbage can so he can sit on the coffee table opposite him. Wendy wipes at his face and nose again and presses a box of Kleenex between her knee and his leg. “I just -- I got distracted, you know? When Billy got here. And all I’ve been able to think about is high school, and finding social work has made me feel like I might actually _do_ something with my life that really matters, and it started to feel like maybe I was getting somewhere. That I’m not wasting -- wasting space or dooming myself to spend the next sixty years _hating_ myself. I didn’t want to leave her behind, _I never wanted that_.”

He starts crying again and Wendy rubs his arm.

“She just kept telling me that she wasn’t the right one for me and that it was _okay_. She wouldn’t stop saying that. She just kept saying _it’s okay, Steve_. It’s not okay. _It’s not_.”

He vacillates between babbling and crying so hard he can barely breathe. It’s hard to keep track of what he’s saying. His heart shatters every time he thinks back to that bench. _I love you too much to not give you everything_ , she had said. Steve never asked her for everything. He just wanted her.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, Robin’s face swims into view above him. Sunlight is slanting in through the living room curtains and Steve realizes he’s lying on Wendy and Christopher’s couch, a blanket slung over him. He’s still in his jeans but his shoes are off. He doesn’t remember if he took them off when he got here or not. Fuck, he hopes he didn’t track anything in. Christopher hates that.

“Hey, dingus,” Robin says quietly, fondly. “Heard you had a rough night. Let’s get you home. But first.” She produces a tin of Altoids and presses one into his mouth. His stomach turns and it makes his eyes water so badly that he wants to spit it out, but he doesn’t.

“Robin,” he whispers. His eyes immediately fill up with tears and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to fight them off.

“Shh, I know,” she says. “Come on. Up, up.”

She helps him into a sitting position and passes him the water and two ibuprofen Wendy is holding and watches him take them, not moving from the floor until the glass is empty. In the daylight, sober and heartbroken, he feels pathetic. He feels even worse when Robin pulls him to his feet and he sees Christopher standing in the doorway with Billy, making it _four_ of his friends who get to witness his meltdown. Steve can’t tell what his own face is doing, but whatever it is, Billy gives him a small smile before going back to looking solemn.

“Brought some reinforcements,” Robin says to him. “We didn’t know how well you’d be feeling this morning, and I gotta be honest, chief, I don’t think I could carry your dead weight back to the apartment.”

“I’m all right.” He is, apart from the pounding headache and a sour stomach, and prickling skin now that the idea of Billy carrying him home is in his head. His stomach rolls and he thinks of Gia, of all the time he let his imagination betray her. “Thank you guys. Sorry for ruining your night.”

Wendy and Christopher both protest at the same time, and they’re the only two people in the world Steve actually believes when they say they don’t mind.

“We’re glad you felt like you could come here,” Christopher says. “You’re always welcome. You know that.” Shaking his hand feels insurmountable right now, so Steve reaches out his fist instead and Christopher bumps it with his own.

“We’ll catch up next week,” Steve says. “I promise I won’t be snotting all over you guys this time.”

Their apartment is on the first floor, which is a blessing in and of itself, but he still winds an arm around Robin’s neck to keep himself steady. They’re moving slowly and it already feels too fast. Billy has a pair of sunglasses hanging from the neck of his shirt and he slides them onto Steve’s face, fingers brushing against his right temple but not lingering there. Steve is grateful for both.

They’re not far from home, which is nice, but the two-block walk to the main road is still excruciating. Once they finally reach Roosevelt, Robin plops Steve onto a bench outside of a deli.

“You need a breather and some food,” she says. He groans and leans back as far as he can go so he doesn’t lean forward and get dizzy. 

“I feel fine,” he says again. “I mean, besides having my heart broken and run over several times while some squirrels were fucking in a tree across from us, but that’s whatever.”

He can see Robin make a face at Billy, but he ignores it. Billy drops down onto the bench beside him as the door tinkles to announce Robin’s arrival. 

“That sucks, man,” he says. Unlike Robin, he pitches his voice lower so it doesn’t make Steve’s head pound as badly. “It seemed like you liked her.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Loved her. I love her.”

They’re quiet for a moment, Steve with his eyes shut and Billy picking at the seam of his sweatshirt along the wrist. Steve wonders how differently this day would be going if Billy was in his angry mood, or his sarcastic mood, or even his flirty mood. Thoughtful Billy is good. Thoughtful Billy is quiet.

“It’s her loss,” Billy says. “You know? You -- the way you get when you care about something. The little freaks, or, I don’t know. Robin. Wheeler. This new thing you’re going after, the social work stuff. I’ve never seen anyone care like you, man. That’s -- I get it now, that’s the fire everyone talked about in high school. Nobody cares like you do. That’s the sexiest thing about you. And if she can’t see it, if she doesn’t know how lucky she is to be cared about by you, then it’s her fucking loss, man, not yours.”

Steve’s brain is stuck on _the sexiest thing about you_ like a needle caught on a record. _The sexiest._ Not -- not _the sexy thing_. Not, _girls think it’s sexy when_. The. _The_ , like there are more. Billy Hargrove just said he was sexy in broad daylight outside of a deli, the morning after the only girl he’s fallen in love with besides Nancy dumped him. Steve feels dizzy and he’s not sure if it’s from Billy or the hangover or both.

“I mean,” Billy continues, speaking faster this time, voice going rounder and more macho. More like high school Billy; but still different, somehow. Less cocksure. “Chicks dig that, you know? Sensitive guys and that shit. What’s that -- what’s the saying, you know, nice guys finish last and all that? Plenty of other bitches in the sea, Harrington. Didn’t I tell you that before? You won’t be single long, don’t worry. King Steve will reign again.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. Billy sits bouncing his leg for a minute or two before he gets up to pace behind the bench. When Robin _finally_ comes back out, he offers to carry the food while she helps Steve.

“You can have your bed,” Billy says when they make it home. He’s hunched over the kitchen table spreading cream cheese onto a bagel and doesn’t look at Steve when he says it. “I’ll fuck around out here until you wake up.”

“Thanks, man,” Steve says. 

“Did I miss something?” Robin whispers as she unwinds her arm from around his back. Steve shakes his head, not taking his eyes off Billy. There’s too much going on right now. He needs a break. He needs to be by himself so he can figure all of this shit out. “Steve, eat at least half a bagel before you go to sleep. I got you a plain one for now and some everything ones for when you don’t feel like shit anymore.”

Billy sits down at the other end of the table to eat, so Steve is stuck looking at the side of his head while he roots around in the bag. Once he has the bagel, he drops Billy’s sunglasses on the table next to him and shuffles down the hallway to his room.

He hasn’t been in here alone in a long time; having a door that he can close feels luxe. Billy keeps it clean, way neater than Steve ever had. His books are carefully stacked on the desk, clothes folded neatly beside them. He realizes that he never cleared out a drawer for Billy, so he tears off a chunk of bagel to shove into his mouth while he pulls out clothes he doesn’t wear and throws them haphazardly into the back of his closet. He empties two drawers and carefully moves Billy’s clothes into the top one and his books into the second one. He leaves it open a crack so Billy knows where his stuff went. 

When that’s done, he stands with his hands on his hips for a moment, trying to blink away the tears forming in his eyes again. He’s -- fuck, he’s confused and hurt and he feels guilty again, like maybe he had been cheating on Gia after all. He’d done more with Billy than Nancy ever did with Jonathan back when they were dating, and he called her a slut for it in front of the whole town. Not that they’d _done anything_ at all, he just -- thought about it too much. Wished for it too much. Imagined a world where he could have both of them without having to choose, because then he wouldn’t have to worry whether or not he was making the wrong choice, or if the wrong choice was being made for him. He’s heard of people dating more than one person, sleeping with more than one person -- threesomes or open relationships or whatever, but that doesn’t feel right to him. It never felt right to him. When he’s with someone, he’s _with them_. He thinks about them all the time. He loves to touch and hold and loves to show affection in public, because the world needs to know how lucky he is. It was like that with Gia at first. He remembers that feeling. But something shifted and he doesn’t know when, or how, or why.

He lays in the bed with his jeans on, because even if this is his bed, it still feels weird, like he’s invading Billy’s privacy. It gets hot quickly under the blanket though, so he winds up shimmying out of them and flopping back onto his stomach to stare across the room at the opposite wall. Billy has _I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings_ sitting on the bedside table. It’s bookmarked with a pencil, eraser worn down almost all the way, and Steve slides it off the nightstand and flips through it, pausing whenever he sees Billy’s handwriting in the margins. _Hero-worship_ , says one. _The Tullivers + the Angelous??_ Another says _Max_ next to the name Maya, which has been circled several times. A page a quarter of the way through the book has been torn out.

Steve closes it and puts it back on the nightstand. There is so much about Billy he doesn’t know. Even if he _did_ know Billy, how much of who he is now is Billy from before, and how much is Billy from today? Maybe -- maybe Gia was right. Maybe she sees something he doesn’t. The thought makes his stomach churn again. He buries his face in the pillow and it smells like Billy, just like the sheets and the blanket, and none of this makes it any better.

An hour after Steve lays down, he hears the door ease open. He closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep. It’s Billy. He can hear the book slide off the nightstand and something glass -- water, probably -- set in its place. The room is quiet for a moment, then Billy’s footsteps move away -- not towards the door, but the dresser, maybe. Billy whispers something that he can’t hear and a moment later the door closes with a soft _click_.

Steve squeezes his eyes tighter shut, feeling -- a lot of things, none of which he can tease apart from each other. He rolls over and drinks half the glass of water. There’s an orange there too, a small cut near the top to make unpeeling it easier. Steve looks at it. It feels like a test, somehow, like this orange might have the answers he needs to _understand_. He splits it in half and looks at the segments. They’re not in season, so it’s a little dry inside, but when he presses down a little, some juice bubbles up and slides over his thumb. 

Steve eats half of the orange, then buries his face in the pillow again. _You are so full of passion and life_ , he hears Gia say. And Billy: _that’s the fire. That’s the sexiest thing about you_.

He falls into a restless sleep, headache pounding worse now that he’s overthinking, and doesn’t wake up until it’s dark outside.

xxx

“Eric is having something at his place tomorrow,” Steve shouts when he gets home, so both Billy and Robin can hear him. It’s May and warming up; he and his managerial economics study group met in the quad today and stayed there way after they finished studying to soak it up. Late spring in Chicago could mean sunshine or snow, so there’s no use in wasting it. “Are you guys co-- oh, well, you’re making out on the couch.”

Robin and Clara are laying on the couch, tangled together, and Steve can’t figure out where to look, so he goes into the kitchen and stares at the wall for a minute.

“Steve, don’t be weird,” Robin calls. 

“Hi, Steve!” Clara says. 

He goes back into the living room. They’re both sitting up and running their fingers through their hair to straighten it out. Robin’s bra is on the ground and Steve just knows he’s accidentally going to look at her nipples through her shirt instead of her face when he’s talking to her. She’s called him out on it before. But they’re just _there_ sometimes. He can’t just _not look_.

“Eric,” he says, aware that he’s doing finger guns. He realizes they’re sitting on what has been for all intents and purposes his bed for the past month and a half. And they were _getting busy_. “Party. Tomorrow. Coming?”

“I’m down,” Robin says.

“Me too.”

“Great. Nice. Well, you guys are in my room, so, uhh.” He tilts his head towards the hallway, not really sure if he’s saying he’s going to go somewhere else or if he’s asking them to get out.

“He’s having a bad day,” Robin says, which means they’re not in a hurry to move. Damn it. “Maybe bring him back some food or something. I don’t think he’s eaten yet.”

“Right,” Steve says, looking at his watch. It’s six pm. “Thanks.”

Billy has taken over most of the cooking and shopping, so, because today is the day he usually goes to Dominick’s, their food stock is low. There’s a bag of chips and an apple that’s only a little shriveled looking, so he gets those and heads down the hall.

There’s no answer when he knocks, so he inches the door open.

“Just me,” he says quietly, even though there’s nobody else it would be other than Robin. “Steve.”

When there’s still no response, he pushes the door open enough for him to slide in. Billy is laying face-down on the bed, blanket up to his ears. Steve can’t tell if he’s awake, so he puts the food down on the nightstand.

“Brought you something to eat,” Steve says. “Robin, uhh. She’s a little busy out there, or I’m sure she would have brought something earlier.”

This time, Billy shifts a little, just enough to turn his head so Steve can see his face. He looks blank and heavy and tired, and Steve’s chest aches just looking at him.

“Hey, man,” he says. “You all right?” He sits down near Billy’s hip and looks down at him. Billy closes his eyes. 

“Fuck,” Billy says hoarsely. “Fucking. Nightmares all night.”

“Do you,” Steve says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Billy shakes his head almost minutely. “Killed. When I escaped. Four people dead. Went to the cabin.”

“All right,” Steve says. 

“Am I a bad person?”

Steve blinks at that. “For what? Killing people while you were being possessed by the spider thing? Fuck no, man.”

Billy’s chin trembles a little. “Nelson. Fitzsimmons. Holtby. Dominguez. With my bare hands. Before -- before I just brought people to him. I didn’t see. But he made me--”

He puts his hand between Billy’s shoulder blades before he realizes what he’s doing, but recoiling would be weirder than just going with it, so he rubs his hand over Billy’s shoulders in what he means to be a soothing way. Billy deflates a little, tears still clinging to his eyelashes, and Steve works two fingers down his spine, pressing in a bit to relieve some of the tension there. It begins to feel like autopilot after a while.

“Do you want me to stay? Or I can go back into the living room,” Steve asks a few minutes later. Billy’s brow creases and he shifts over, pulling the blanket back with him. “Oh. I -- oh. I mean, sure.”

Steve takes off his Nikes and slides under the blanket next to Billy. He realizes he’s holding his breath but can’t seem to stop. Their thighs and shoulders are pressed together, and it takes all of Steve’s concentration not to start babbling.

Billy grunts quietly and lifts his face off the pillow so he can talk more easily. “Can you,” he says, then puts his head back down like saying those two words was the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“Yeah,” Steve says, shifting onto his side so he can get closer. He doesn’t even know what Billy wants or what he needs, but when Steve starts rubbing his back again, Billy’s face smooths out. Steve doesn’t know what else to do but stare at Billy, so he does, even when Billy starts to cry a little harder. He doesn’t mention it, and doesn’t move when Billy finally falls asleep.

xxx

Eric’s apartment isn’t very big, so getting the door open around Eric’s drunk Atari Club friends is a bit of a challenge. The place is packed, so Steve reaches behind him for Robin’s hand to grab hold of, so they can move through the crowd without losing each other. He realizes too late that Billy’s the one behind him, but when he glances back, Billy is looking behind him to make sure he has a grip on Robin.

Eric is in all of Steve’s classes and is just the level of fratty that he can tolerate. It’s like having Tommy around, except Eric’s not always a dick and only sometimes makes sexist comments. He mostly just plays video games and smokes weed. Steve finds him in one of the bedrooms doing a keg stand, which is probably what he should have been expecting. Steve glances over his shoulder and tugs Billy closer so he can yell, “Want a shot at it, Keg King?” Billy grins at him and rubs the pad of his thumb over Steve’s fingers. It makes Steve’s stomach flip over, if he’s being honest with himself.

He and Gia split up a month ago. He’s starting to let himself lean into the crush a little more and tries to minimize the guilt he feels.

Billy is doing better today. Steve woke up this morning still in the bed; Billy was out in the kitchen making breakfast, which was nice, in a way, because they didn’t have to awkwardly pretend to ignore each other’s morning wood, but disappointing in another, because part of him wanted them to wake up together. Billy was quiet, maybe a little embarrassed about needing Steve to rub his back to fall asleep, but he emerged from his pre-dinner shower riding the edge of cocky and flirty. He’s settled somewhere in-between.

“Eric!” Steve shouts once Eric’s back on his feet and most of the cheering has subsided.

“Steve, man, what’s up!” Eric hugs him, smelling like beer and weed, and thumps his back a couple of times. “Glad you could make it! And you brought friends!”

“Yeah, Billy and Robin.” Steve only realizes he and Billy are still holding hands when he tries to point. He’s not sure who pulls away first. 

“What’s up, what’s up!” He hugs Billy and Robin; they both give Steve a look over Eric’s shoulder.

“Nice to see you again, Eric,” Robin says. She’s using her sarcastically bubbly voice and Steve can’t tell yet if it’s because she’s mocking him or because she wants to see if she can snag some of his expensive weed.

Eric squints at her for a second. “Barkley! From Spanish!”

“Buckley,” she says. “Anatomy, last semester. We were lab partners.”

Eric snaps. “Frog girl!”

“No,” Robin says, “but I’ll take it. You got any more of that sweet, sweet grass?”

“Do I ever!” Eric laughs and Steve and Robin exchange a look. “Roof, roof, roof!” He points at Steve and Billy, eyebrows raised.

“Nah, man, we’re good,” Steve says.

“Suit yourself!” Robin mimes sticking a finger down her throat when he turns his back, but follows him out of the room anyway.

“This is just as shit as Hawkins parties,” Billy shouts, “except those Hoosier fuckers had nicer houses and I didn’t get B.O. all over me.”

“You’re telling me you hung out with Tommy and didn’t constantly get his sweat all over you? Man’s like a walking fountain.”

“That,” Billy says, “is not inaccurate.”

“Let’s get drinks.” He tilts his head towards the door and they squeeze out of the room past _so many_ _people_ Steve has never seen before. Going from a town like Hawkins where he’d known everyone since birth to a place like UIC where he’s never even seen a quarter of the kids in any of his classes trips him up sometimes. He has to blink hard to get out of that headspace, then feels the tips of Billy’s fingers pressed in between his shoulder blades so they don’t lose each other and shivers.

“Steve!” Maggie, the Black girl who works at the co-op, is standing with her friend Tess in the doorway of the living room. 

“Hey, Mags.”

“You still haven’t come to shoot hoops with us.”

“Oh, shit,” Steve says. “I’m so sorry, I forgot I said I was going to.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling. “He says he’s really good at basketball,” she says to Billy, “but so far he’s all talk and no game.”

Billy opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking flushed and nervous. He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye and Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he says. He clears his throat. “Yeah, we used to play together in high school.”

“ _Oh my God_.” She presses a hand to her heart and leans back like she’s going to faint. “Is this where the baby pics come out? Please, _please_ tell me what he was like in high school. I bet he was the _biggest_ geek.” She pushes imaginary glasses up her nose and pulls her thumbs away from her like she’s stretching out suspender straps. “I’m thinking _full_ Potsie.”

“Aw, shucks,” Steve says, grinning.

“He,” Billy starts. Steve looks over at him, and whatever he sees in Steve’s face seems to get his head on straight. “Everyone called him King Steve.”

“ _King Steve_!” she crows and Steve groans.

“The most popular boy in school.” Billy wiggles his eyebrows and Steve doesn’t know if he’s going to stand a chance against the two of them, or maybe it’s how Billy’s looking at him that has his heart pounding. How was he able to ignore _just how much_ Billy gets under his skin when he was with Gia? How was this not a thing in _high school_? “I didn’t get there ‘til his reign had ended.”

“Reign,” Steve scoffs. “It was not a reign, Mags, I was just a douchebag with good hair.” Billy’s hand comes up from behind to tousle his hair and Steve tries to duck out of the way, but can’t get very far without bumping into other people.

“It wasn’t a _long_ reign, you mean, because I swooped in to steal the throne.”

“Billy was Keg King,” Steve tells Maggie. She looks so delighted by all of the information she’s getting, even though it’s about some guy she’s never met. “He was always shirtless and stole, like, half the guy’s girlfriends.”

“And their moms,” Billy adds thoughtfully.

“And their moms,” Steve agrees. “Including my ex’s mom.”

“Just got her a little wet.” Billy winks.

“So was this, like, a team operation?” she asks, gesturing between the two of them. “Or was it a full rivalry, fists a-blazing and whatever?”

“Oh, he wishes it was a team operation,” Billy says. “We woulda ruled the school, Princess.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I promise I’ll come play sometime,” he tells Maggie. “Sorry I bailed. Things have been a little…” He can’t think of a word to encompass the past few months. “Strange, I guess, on my end.”

“Feel free to come too, Billy,” she says, eyes sparkling. “We’ll put you guys on opposite teams so you can relive the days of yore.”

“You just want to get me on skins,” Steve says, teasing. She laughs.

“You caught me. That’s been the long con this whole time. I got the job at the co-op three years ago knowing that one day, King Steve would grace us with his presence, and I would have the opportunity to get him to take his shirt off in a gym without air conditioning in front of the old folks who do tai chi after us.” She sighs dreamily. “That’s what God intended for me to do with my life. Chase that sweet, milky, baby skin of King Steve Harrington.”

“Old folks do love him,” Billy muses.

“Gross,” Steve says. 

“Okay, go break some hearts,” she says. “Matt and I are off again, but we’re in that part where I don’t want him to see me talking to other guys yet, so he knows there’s still a chance. Can’t make it too easy for him though.” She shakes her head. “You white boys are exhausting.”

“Don’t I know it,” Steve says. “Bye, Mags.”

“Bye, King Steve. Thanks for the dirt, Billy.”

Billy salutes her and winks, then follows Steve into the crowd, towards the kitchen.

“She seems nice,” Billy says tentatively near Steve’s ear.

“She is,” Steve says. “She and her boyfriend run the pick-up games. I’ve been telling her I’m coming all year and haven’t.”

“So she’s,” Billy says, then cuts himself off. When Steve glances over at him, his eyebrows are knitted together. “I mean, her and Matt aren’t… they’re not a problem here, either, right?”

It takes Steve a minute to follow. “No,” he says. “It’s not -- the Sinclairs are one of two Black families in Hawkins. There are a lot more people who aren’t white here. It’s not a problem. Even if…” There’s a lump in his throat. He knows Billy is thinking about Damian. Maybe he’s picturing him here at the party, his arm around Billy’s neck. Maybe he’s imagining bringing Damian home with him to Steve’s bed. “Dating isn’t an issue,” he says finally. “There are even -- I mean, it’s not, like -- _common_ or anything, but there are -- some guys, you know. Who date other guys.”

Billy doesn’t respond for a while. He leans against the fridge while Steve pushes his way through a group of wasted baseball players to pour himself some vodka and Coke.

“You don’t have any friends like that,” Billy says when Steve comes back over. Three more people try to fit around the countertops with the booze. One of them bumps Steve so his chest is right up against Billy’s bicep. “I mean, besides…”

“What,” Steve says. He’d already lost track of their conversation. He downs half his cup to give himself an excuse for his skin burning where Billy is touching him. “Oh, oh. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t really ask.”

Billy nods slowly, then looks over Steve’s shoulder at another wave of people. “Refill, then let’s go back out there.”

The crowd starts to thin out a little after midnight. Steve doesn’t remember the last time he saw Eric, but Robin and Clara are talking on one of the couches in the living room and Maggie and Tess are arguing with two of the baseball players about whether or not the change to best-of-seven is going to fuck up the Stanley Cup playoffs this year. Steve has been watching Billy talk to some guy about surfing for a while now and has lost track of how many drinks he’s had, even though he knows exactly how many times this guy has touched Billy’s arms and shoulders.

Steve dozes off after a while of sitting there trying to justify his jealousy as not being sure if that guy is even good enough for Billy. He wakes up to Robin pulling on his ear.

“Games, games, games,” she whispers to him, smelling like weed and rum.

“This is so eighth grade,” Maggie whispers as he drops into the circle next to her. Billy is across from him next to that guy and winks when he sees Steve looking. Steve’s stomach flips when he realizes he may have indirectly encouraged Billy to get himself laid. _Fuck_.

“I don’t think I’ve ever played a drinking game that required so much thought,” he whispers back.

“Oooh!” Maggie shouts, startling him and everyone else in the room. “Steve starts, he’s got one already. Steve, tell them what you just told me.”

“Um,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever played--”

“Never have I ever,” a few people say, both from within the circle and outside it. Steve doesn’t understand how watching a bunch of drunk undergrads play a drinking game could be a spectator sport, but to each their own.

“Christ, okay,” Steve says. He runs a hand through his hair, aware of how it’s doubled in size since they left the apartment. “Never have I ever played a drinking game that requires so much thought.”

“That was too sober a sentence,” Tess says, leaning forward to see around Maggie. “As the alcohol police, I’m writing you a prescription to take a shot.”

Steve cannot argue with that logic, so he accepts the gin Maggie pours for him and knocks it back, hissing when it goes down.

“I fucking hate gin,” he tells her. He licks his fingers where it sloshed onto his hand and finds himself making eye contact with Billy, which makes him feel heady and warm. He runs his tongue from the web of his hand up to the tip of his index finger and is just about to take it into his mouth when Maggie slaps his wrist.

“No deep-throating your fingers at the dinner table,” she tells him. Steve glances back and Billy isn’t looking at him anymore. He blinks hard and flushes a bit, embarrassed.

“Never have I ever failed a class,” Maggie says. Steve wrestles the rum from Robin and pours himself a shot, then another just for emphasis. “Whoop whoop, graduating without paying for any useless classes.” Tess opens her mouth, looking both outranged and amused, and Maggie waves her off. “I don’t need you to lie to the good people, sweetheart. I just don’t.”

“Hey,” Steve says in spite of himself. He points across the circle at Billy. “You didn’t take a drink. One of your, your Sprite shots or whatever.”

“I’ve never failed a class,” Billy tells him. “I was the only one with better grades than Wheeler junior year, and I was accepted early admission to UCSF.”

“And you came to the Midwest?” Clara says. “I’m taking a shot on your behalf since you’re driving and can’t.”

“Don’t believe me, Harrington?” Billy asks, starting to smile a little. “Just because I never let it get out doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“I never saw you turn anything in,” Steve says. “You never did any homework.”

Billy just laughs and shakes his head.

“Never have I ever, ever, _ever_ ,” Janet sings. “I’ve never killed anyone!”

Billy half-smiles, shaking his head, and excuses himself from the group. Steve watches him go into the kitchen and wonders if he should get up, too. Maybe Billy needs to talk about it. Maybe he needs something to get his mind off it.

“I killed a bunch of lobsters last summer,” Garrett is saying. “I mean, I don’t know if that counts, but.”

“Booooo,” says the guy who’s been talking to Billy. “Stop trying to sex it up to make yourself sound cooler than you are.”

“You know what, Phil?” Garrett says, voice getting louder. The girls on either side of him grab his wrists to keep him seated.

“Chill out,” one of them tells him. “Jesus Christ, why do you always get like this when you drink?”

A few more rounds pass and Steve drinks on every one, too busy watching the kitchen door to really pay attention. He’s drunk enough that it’s hard to concentrate on more than one thing. At some point, Maggie replaces his shots with the Sprite Billy left behind and pinches his cheek.

Someone turns on the radio and between everyone’s singing and his head spinning, he loses track of things for a bit. He opens his eyes to Billy back in the circle, laughing as he watches Maggie and Tess dance to Tommy Tutone as they balance on opposite arms of a stained armchair.

“867-5309,” Maggie says flatly, dropping back down beside Steve when the song is over. “Jenny, Jenny, I’m looking for a good time. Never have I ever told someone to call me for a good time. Yes, ladies and gents, that includes all your favorite ways to not say what you wanna say, whether you want him to keep you company on a cold night, or butter your muffin, or come by for some French tutoring.” She winks across the circle at nobody in particular and Robin falls into Clara laughing.

“One time I told this girl to page me if she ever wanted some company,” Garrett says. “Does that count?”

“Did you want to have sex with her?” Phil asks. Steve catches sight of how close he is to Billy, close enough that their elbows bump.

“Obviously I wanted to have sex with her, _Phil_ ,” Garrett shoots back. Steve’s ears go pink. _If you ever want company,_ he remembers saying. _I’m around_. “Nobody under the age of fifty says _company_ anymore unless you’re trying to get your dick wet.”

Steve can _feel_ Billy looking at him, even as he tries to avoid looking anywhere in his vicinity. He skips the Sprite and goes straight for the gin again, making the mistake of glancing up while he’s pouring to see Billy staring at him.

“Shit,” Steve whispers, taking a shot so he has something to do other than read into Billy’s expression. “Eric, you haven’t done one. Go. Go, go, _go_.”

Eric’s eyes are wide and he’s looking at them all suspiciously.

“Never have I ever fucked a girl who faked an orgasm,” Garrett says loudly.

“It’s not your turn!” Clara yells.

“He obviously just snorted a quart of meth or something,” Garrett says. “Look at him, he looks like a fucking velociraptor. I was taking us all out of our misery.”

xxx

Billy’s face swims into view above him.

“Let’s get you home, Harrington,” he says. 

“Nrhhghh,” Steve replies. Then, more coherently: “Robin.”

“I can’t carry both princesses home.”

“I got her,” Clara says, yawning and rubbing at her eye. She, Robin, and Steve have somehow ended up in a spooning chain. Robin is passed out between them, mouth wide open. “I’ve been drinking water. I’ll get us a taxi or something.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. You guys go, don’t worry about us.”

“All right. C’mon, Harrington. Up and at’em.”

“Ughh,” Steve says, but accepts the hand up Billy offers him. He snakes an arm around Steve’s waist and reaches over to wrap Steve’s arm around his neck. With Steve leaning against him so heavily, his limp is less pronounced.

“Thanks,” Steve says loudly to no one in particular.

It’s cooler outside than it was in the apartment and Steve tries to blink some of the dizziness out of his eyes. He feels a little more clear-headed, but still nowhere near sober. He keeps trying to give Billy directions, even though he can’t tell which street is which, and Billy just laughs quietly each time.

When they get into the apartment, Billy leans Steve up against the wall.

“Are you okay to walk by yourself?” he asks. 

“We live on the third floor,” Steve tells him, as if he didn’t just have to bear-crawl up the stairs. Billy steps back anyway and Steve almost goes with him, more because of the heat of his body than anything else. His cologne is on Steve’s shirt now from the walk.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Billy asks, an amused tilt to his mouth.

“Go fuck yourself,” Steve tells him.

Billy laughs. “Right answer.”

Steve half-stumbles down the hall to the bathroom and shuts the door before sitting heavily on the toilet lid. “Shit,” he says to nobody. He tries to rest his elbows on his knees but that just makes him feel like he’s doing somersaults, so he stands up instead to splash water on his face and brush some of the alcohol taste out of his mouth.

He’s staring blearily at his reflection in the mirror when the door opens, startling him.

“Here,” Billy says, pushing a glass of water into his hand.

“What if I was taking a shit?” Steve goes to set it down, but Billy stops him.

“You’re not,” he says. “Drink that.” He watches Steve drink the whole glass, then takes and fills it back up under the faucet. “So, is that what you meant?”

“Huh?” Steve looks up at the lights over the mirror just so he doesn’t have to look Billy in the face. He turns away after a minute, blinking away dark spots, and Billy is still looking at him, face set and intense. 

“Drink,” Billy says. Steve does. Billy fills the glass again. “The thing about company. Is that what you meant when you said that to me?”

Steve chokes on his mouthful of water and Billy thumps him on the back when he spits it into the sink. He hacks for a minute, wipes the water off his chin, and asks, voice raw, “What happened to that guy? Phil or whatever?”

“I told him to fuck off,” Billy says. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I don’t remember the question.”

“Bullshit.” Billy steps a little closer, chin tilted up, eyes defiant. Steve can see his freckles this close, faint without the sun; they bridge over his nose and down from his temples. “You know exactly what I asked.”

Steve drinks the rest of the water. He’s beginning to feel way too sober for this.

“Steve,” Billy says quietly. That catches his attention -- Steve. Not Harrington. _Steve_.

He looks at Billy, the blue of his eyes barely visible around the pupil. Slowly, he nods.

“Fuck,” Billy says and pulls Steve against him with an arm around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we all know steve eats ketchup on his hot dogs like some sort of heathen


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here,” Billy whispers. He peels one of Steve’s hands off his face and presses the glass of water into it instead. “Drink some more.”
> 
> “What if I don’t want to?” Steve asks. He gets one knee on the bed, right against Billy’s hip, pushing forward a bit so he can climb on top of him. Billy doesn’t move, though, and his hands find Steve’s waist to stop him.
> 
> “You’re still drunk,” Billy says evenly. “Drink.”
> 
> “I can drink later,” Steve says.
> 
> “While I’m flattered you think I’d take advantage of you, I don’t sleep with people drunker than I am.” This, unfortunately, comes as a surprise to Steve, and his face must say as much because Billy adds, “Especially when I’m completely sober."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: drunk person and sober person kissing, homophobic language (period-typical, all from Billy), blowjob/handjob, nightmare, brief gore, brief mention of suicide, intergluteal sex, sex beginning before one person is entirely awake

It takes Steve a long time to notice the towel bar digging into his back, and he only notices because he’s suddenly very, _very_ aware of how badly he needs to pee.

He tries to say something, but Billy just kisses him deeper, and he loses track of time again. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been making out in the first place. It could be years. Billy’s hair is getting longer, long enough for Steve to wrap some of the curls around his fingers. His breath catches when Steve tugs at them.

“Gotta pee,” he tries. It comes out garbled with Billy’s tongue in his mouth.

“Hmm?” Billy kisses his chin instead. His jaw, his ear, his neck. Steve’s focus hones in only on where Billy’s mouth is and he forgets until Billy stops sucking a bruise onto his throat to say, “ _What_.”

“I gotta pee,” Steve says faintly. “Billy, that feels so fucking good. Don’t stop doing that.”

Billy pulls back anyway and Steve opens his eyes only to see how pink he is. His lips are kiss-swollen and his eyes are dark and he’s smiling. Steve’s fingers tighten on the back of Billy’s shirt of their own accord.

“You gotta pee,” Billy says. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and Steve’s brain fries, right then and there. He leans forward to kiss him again anyway, because he _can_ , and because Billy somehow already knows which buttons to press. They keep going until Billy’s hips push against him and he pulls away gasping, both because of his bladder and because he didn’t realize just how hard he’s gotten.

“No, for real,” he says, closing his eyes. “You made me drink like eight glasses of water. I’m gonna piss myself, man.”

“All right,” Billy says, backing away. When Steve opens his eyes again, Billy is smiling at him, sharkish but without that high school arrogance. “Gentleman’s privacy.” He gives Steve a once-over, eyes lingering on the wet spot on Steve’s slacks, and winks before grabbing the water glass and shutting the door behind him.

“Shit,” Steve says, thunking his head back against the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He stumbles forward to splash cold water on his face. “Think of Dustin,” he says quietly. He sits down on the toilet and tries to work with what he’s got. He has to bite back a moan, though, when he grabs his dick, and maybe allows himself a few strokes before getting back to trying to will it down. “Think of that time you touched Dustin’s butt, like, a whole bunch. It was in your face there. Robin could’ve shoved him into that air vent, but _no_ , the _babysitter_ ’s gotta touch the kid’s ass.”

When he nudges open the bedroom door, he finds Billy sitting on the edge of the bed holding the glass of water between his knees. He looks soft and young in the lamplight, and when he looks up at Steve, he smiles a little shyly. 

“Hi,” Steve says quietly, stalled in the doorway. He suddenly feels so nervous that he can’t take that first step into the room.

Billy’s smile grows wider, more sure. “Hi yourself.”

“Hi,” Steve says again after a moment of quiet.

“Are you coming in?” Billy asks. “Or are you going to stand there like a huge nerd all night?”

Something about that -- the confirmation, maybe, that Steve didn’t make everything up in some alcohol-induced fantasy -- makes it easier. He goes to stand between Billy’s knees and smooths both hands through the curls above Billy’s ears and just looks for a while. Billy has a scar through his eyebrow and a scar beneath his right eye. He wonders if they’ve always been there or if they’re from that lost year. He touches the one under Billy’s eye.

“Here,” he whispers after a minute. He peels one of Steve’s hands off his face and presses the glass of water into it instead. “Drink some more.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Steve asks. He gets one knee on the bed, right against Billy’s hip, pushing forward a bit so he can climb on top of him. Billy doesn’t move, though, and his hands find Steve’s waist to stop him.

“You’re still drunk,” Billy says evenly. “Drink.”

“I can drink later,” Steve says.

“While I’m flattered you think I’d take advantage of you, I don’t sleep with people drunker than I am.” This, unfortunately, comes as a surprise to Steve, and his face must say as much because Billy adds, “Especially when I’m completely sober.”

Steve doesn’t really know what to say, so he just drinks the water, trying not to choke when Billy starts to rub circles against the juts of his hips with his thumbs.

“Okay,” he says once he’s finished. “But if I have to get up to pee again, that’s all on you.”

“I accept that responsibility,” Billy says. He shifts towards the top of the bed so he can lay back against the pillows and Steve can hover over him. When they’ve been making out long enough that Steve’s arms start to ache from the angle, he drops down to press against his side, one knee slung over Billy’s. He can feel the outline of Billy’s hard dick against his knee and he snakes a hand up Billy’s shirt as he rolls against him.

“Fuck,” Billy says. He turns his face to break the kiss and pushes Steve back by the shoulder. “Harrington, you’re going to fucking kill me.”

“Let me suck your dick,” Steve says, feeling brave and stupid. He wants Billy to keep making the soft noises he has been, and more. Wants to know what Billy looks like when Steve has stripped his dick so hard that he can’t do anything but come all over the both of them. Wonders what it’s like to have another guy’s come between his fingers.

But Billy just stares at him open-mouthed and Steve doesn’t know what to do, so he shifts himself down to ruck up Billy’s shirt and kiss along the line of hair at the bottom of his stomach. Billy almost knees him in the throat.

“Harrington,” he says, “stop. _Steve_.”

That catches Steve off guard again and Billy uses that to his advantage; he flips Steve onto his back and holds his arms down by his sides.

“No,” Billy says firmly, and Steve realizes he’s serious.

“Oh,” he says. Embarrassment starts creeping in. He wonders if he misunderstood something. Something important, like whether or not Billy wants to be making out in the first place. “Do you not… want to?”

“Christ,” says Billy. He sits back on his heels and scrubs his hands over his face. “Yeah, Harrington, I fucking want to, but I’m not an idiot. I’m not gonna have my dick sucked only to have you telling everyone the fucking faggot made you suck him off.”

Steve sits up onto his elbows. “I’m not going to do that,” he says. 

“I know.” Billy makes a frustrated noise. “Tomorrow. Okay? I want you to know what you’re getting into.”

“I do know what I’m getting into,” Steve says in spite of the encompassing feeling that he’s going to give the worst head ever. He’s only _just_ learned how to get vaginas right.

“A drunk fuck isn’t knowing shit,” Billy says. “Sleep it off.” Neither of them says anything for a minute. Then, quietly: “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Billy looks haunted in the shadows the bedside lamp is casting across the room. They look at each other for another minute before Billy slides off him slowly and lays down so they’re shoulder-to-shoulder. They’re both still in their slacks and shirts from the party. It feels, if it could, even weirder.

“I want to, okay?” Billy says again. Steve looks over at him and Billy looks back. Steve had expected intensity or aggression or dominance, but Billy just looks scared. That sobers Steve up more than anything. “I promise that I do.”

“I believe you,” Steve says. He keeps looking at Billy until Billy leans over to kiss him. It’s just once; just a peck. It’s the first kiss they’ve had that hasn’t been moving a million miles a minute. Steve kisses him again before he can pull away.

xxx

Steve wakes up to the door slamming against the wall and a quiet, “ _Shit, shit, shit._ ” He rolls over, feeling languid and bleary-eyed, and Billy makes a face at him from where he’s standing in the doorway trying to balance two coffee cups and a greasy paper bag.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Steve pushes himself up onto his elbows and rubs his eyes. “No, it’s okay.” Billy kicks the door shut behind him, more gently this time, and manages to get everything onto the side table without burning himself or Steve. Then he sits on the edge of the bed, gripping one of the coffee cups like a lifeline, and gives Steve an almost comically deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, breathlessly.

“That’s my line,” Steve says. He leans forward to ease the cup out of Billy grip and stays half-hovering at his shoulder while he takes a drink.

“How’s the hangover?” Billy asks. He’s looking at Steve out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s fine,” Steve says. He bumps the cup against Billy’s shoulder until he takes it back. “Some guy kept trying to ply me with drinks and drugs last night. Water and ibuprofen, typical Friday night.” Billy smiles down at his hands and Steve can’t help but lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth until Billy turns his face and Steve can kiss him for real.

“Hey, come on,” Billy says a few minutes later. The coffee is back on the nightstand and Billy’s on his back, Steve kissing his neck. “You’re being -- _way_ too smooth, come on. This isn’t fair. You haven’t said anything super dorky.”

Steve sits up, laughing. “I’ve done this part before,” he says. “This, I can do. The other stuff, not so much.”

“You’re good at the other stuff,” Billy argues, pulling at the belt loops of his slacks, now wrinkled from being slept in. “Something charming about the village idiot.”

“Wow, all right,” Steve says, but still ducks back down to kiss him some more. He makes sure to bite Billy’s lip harder than he has been, just to be an ass. Billy’s in sweatpants and one of Steve’s UIC sweatshirts and his hair is still a little damp from the shower. Steve wants him more than he can remember wanting anything.

The hot press of Billy’s dick on his hip starts to drive him insane, so he sits up and tries to pull his polo off, realizing too late that it’s buttoned too high to fit over his head.

“There he is,” Billy laughs. He keeps his fingers on Steve’s hips and opens his mouth, hand cupping the back of Steve’s head to get a better angle when he finally comes back down. Billy grunts and grabs a handful of Steve’s ass. 

“I’m gonna,” he says clumsily, and Steve says, “Yeah. _Yeah_.” It takes both of them to pull Steve’s pants and briefs down over his hips, and then Steve is on his back, looking up at Billy’s blown-out pupils and pink cheeks.

“Fuck,” Steve says.

“I need to,” Billy says, and ducks down to take Steve’s dick all the way down without warning.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve says again, hand spasming on the sheets. He can feel Billy grinning around his cock, but it takes several moments of trying to get ahold of himself, eyes screwed up, before he can open them again. All he can see is the top of Billy’s head and his hand anchored at the base of Steve’s dick. “Billy,” he says breathlessly, arching his back to try and stop the jerks his hips are making from turning into fucking Billy’s mouth. “Billy, I’m gonna--”

He’s in Billy’s mouth from the first half of it and it’s not until it’s over that Steve realizes Billy’s caught most of the rest on his chin and cheeks. He licks up the jizz on Steve’s stomach and Steve’s hips buck up a little, even though he still isn’t sure how he feels about that. It’s more how voraciously Billy does it.

He wipes Billy’s face with the palm of his hand when he comes back to kiss Steve.

“You now,” Steve says, feeling lightheaded and unembarrassed that it took him about two minutes to come.

“I got it,” Billy says, laughing. He gets his left forearm up next to Steve’s ear and reaches down to grab his own dick. He lets out a soft _mmm_ and closes his eyes once he’s there.

“Hey, no,” Steve protests. He forces two of his fingers, still covered in his own jizz from wiping Billy’s face, into Billy’s mouth, and uses the other hand to knock his knuckles against Billy’s until he lets go. Holding his dick doesn’t feel that distinctly different than holding his own dick, but the angle is still weird. He doesn’t have to think about it too long, though, because Billy is shaking, his tongue parting the fingers in his mouth to lick between them. His other arm comes down to keep himself up. Steve squeezes him at the base; pumps hard, then slows down, and is halfway through another hard pump when Billy shoots his load onto Steve’s chest and stomach. Some of it gets on the waistband of his pants and Steve was so distracted that he didn’t even notice Billy never took anything off.

“Fuck,” Steve says faintly. Billy is panting around his fingers and has to physically drag Steve’s wrist away from him. A string of spit connects them until it doesn’t. He licked Steve’s palm and the heel of his hand.

“Oh my God,” Billy says. “Give me like two minutes, I gotta fucking come again.” He goes back up on his shaking forearm to pull his pants down over the swell of his ass. Steve goes to pull them down farther, wanting to feel Billy’s skin, but gets distracted by Billy’s mouth on his, then Billy’s shaking hand pressing them both together, slicking them up with Billy’s jizz and the precum already leaking out of Steve’s dick.

They try to kiss, but neither of them can seem to focus on anything other than the pressure of him jerking them off. They’re both so oversensitive. By the time they’re hard again, the cum is no longer giving him a good slide, so Steve blindly gropes at the side table until he can fish out a shitty bottle of lube. He hasn’t used it in a while because Gia always had nicer stuff. He squirts some out over Billy’s hand and Billy makes a cut-off sound, hand speeding up. Steve grasps at Billy’s ass, pulling him down closer to get more friction, and they both grunt with it. Steve swings his other hand around to get closer, closer, and finds the fingers of his right hand drifting a bit, exploring, pressing lightly against the warmth he finds there, and Billy comes so hard and intense that he loses his balance and falls on top of Steve.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Billy says, voice a couple pitches higher than normal, into Steve’s neck once he gets his breath back. He shifts his full weight off Steve with some effort and skims his hand down the length of Steve’s body, starting at his collarbone and going until he can touch Steve again. He kisses Steve while he pulls him off, even when Steve is so close to the edge that his mouth hangs open, even when orgasm hits and Steve arches like a bow and makes a noise he’s glad Robin isn’t around to hear.

“Holy shit,” Steve says, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Billy grins, eyes half-lidded and cheeks pink, looking calm and blissed out. Neither of them talk for a few minutes as they doze in and out of shallow sleep. It smells different, the two of them laying there, and Steve’s heart jumps at the realization that he just had sex with a _guy_. He and _another man_ just got off with each other. 

“I can’t believe,” Billy finally says, voice muffled by the pillow, “that you touched my asshole.”

Something about that sets them both off into a fit of laughter. Steve’s abs ache but he can’t seem to stop.

“I mean, I liked it,” Billy says, eyes running. “Five stars, keep it comin’. I always just assumed you liked, you know, missionary followed by praying for forgiveness.” Steve hit him in the chest with the back of his hand.

“Billy Hargrove,” Steve says. He never thought Billy would be a cuddler, but here he is, head tucked against Steve’s shoulder, his fingers ghosting across Steve’s chest. 

“At your service.”

“I’d call the guys in white coats if you told me in high school I’d be messing around with Billy _fucking_ Hargrove.”

“Yeah?” Billy pinches his ribs until he squirms. “Woulda got on my knees for King Steve back then too.” 

“Really?” Billy doesn’t stop jabbing at him and they end up wrestling until Steve ends up on top, Billy’s arms pinned to the pillows above his head. He has a strong suspicion Billy didn’t put up that good of a fight.

“Your basketball shorts,” Billy says, his leer going weirdly goofy at the edges. “Fucking criminal.”

“You wore the same ones,” Steve laughs.

“If you had told me to fuck you in that weird leaky bathroom by the chem labs, you wouldn’t have been able to stop me from getting there.” He smiles wide enough for Steve to see his canines. “If you wanted me to blow you in the locker room in front of the whole team and their girlfriends, I would’ve. You and those little green shorts. Fucking indecent.”

“Yeah right,” Steve says. He kisses Billy, hard and deep, to hide his blush. “Do you even like girls?”

Billy shrugs. “They’re fine,” Billy says. “Guys are better. I just like getting off. You?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I like girls. Didn’t think much about guys until you.”

Billy’s eyebrows shoot up and he gives Steve a shit-eating grin. “You into getting your ass beat, Harrington?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Shut up. No, those dreams that I mentioned?” He waits for Billy to give some sort of acknowledgement of understanding and continues when he gets an eyebrow quirk. “There was, you know. A _dream_.”

“You had a wet dream about me,” Billy says, delighted. Steve sits up a little, still straddling Billy’s ribs, and flicks him in the chin.

“Take your shirt off next time,” he says. “How am I supposed to get the whole Billy Hargrove experience when you’re wearing clothes?”

Billy keeps smiling, but Steve can see it fade out a bit from his eyes. “Nah,” he says. 

“I don’t care about it,” Steve says quietly. He touches the edge of the thick scar going up the side of Billy’s neck. “Any of it.”

Billy’s grin just gets bigger. “This ain’t Hawkins Pool, Princess,” he drawls. “Not quite as pretty as you remember.”

Steve shakes his head. “If there’s anyone who gets it, it’s gonna be one of us,” he says. “You think I’m going to change my mind because of a few scars?”

“A few scars,” Billy scoffs.

“ _Hey_.” Steve reaches out to hold Billy’s chin in his hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “You saved our asses that night. I don’t even know how many people would’ve died if you didn’t do that.”

“Plenty of people died anyway.”

“Look at me and tell me I care about that,” Steve says. “Look me in the eye and tell me I don’t want you because you’re covered in battle scars.”

Billy swallows thickly. “Fuck you,” he says quietly.

“Nobody who went through any of that can care,” Steve says. “You see that kind of stuff and stupid shit doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I only ate enough to get by,” Billy says, squinting at a spot over Steve’s shoulder like he’s looking into the sun. “I just trained all the time. Did whatever I could to keep in shape. So when it came back…” Billy closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I can’t do that again, Steve.”

Steve shifts so he’s laying along Billy’s side and kisses his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth. “He’ll have to go through me first,” Steve tells him. He’s surprised by how much he means it. Billy looks at him for a minute, unsure, before his brow creases and he nudges Steve off of him. He sits up and pulls his sweatshirt off, then his sweatpants and underwear. He pulls the blankets back up over him, but only up to his waist, and then he lays down and looks up at Steve like he’s waiting for him to change his mind.

They’re patchier than they were when Steve first saw them, some of them almost faded back into Billy’s skin. The scar where Robin cut into him is long and white, and his big scar, the one that killed him, is flaky around the edges and still looks deep red and angry, almost like the skin there had been charred. Steve doesn’t realize he’s running his fingers along them until he hears Billy’s intake of breath. He leans down to kiss them too.

“Stay here,” Steve says. He climbs over Billy and goes across the hall into the bathroom. He pushes things around under the sink for a minute until he finds one of Robin’s million bottles of lotion, then heads back into his bedroom, kicks the door shut behind him, and sits his weight on the tops of Billy’s thighs. He squirts some of the lotion into his hands and rubs them together to warm it up. “Does that one hurt?” he asks, nodding vaguely to the kill scar. Billy doesn’t respond for a minute and Steve looks up at him to see Billy looking back, a confused expression on his face.

“Uh, sometimes,” Billy says finally. “It aches, but not all the time. It gets dry a lot, though.”

Steve nods and begins to rub the lotion in, careful not to press too hard. He spends a little extra time rubbing circles against the drier patches. “Robin’s mom always gives her scented lotions when she goes home and she never uses them,” he says. “There’s a million kinds under the sink. She always tried to pawn them off on Gia.”

“Why do you give a shit about me?” Billy asks. Steve looks up, confused. Billy looks tired and stricken and like he’s been vulnerable enough for a lifetime.

“What do you mean, why do I give a shit?”

“I just don’t get it,” Billy says. He starts to sit up and Steve moves to the side so they can sit facing each other. Steve rubs the lotion into his arms to get it off his hands. “I made your life a living hell. I beat the crap out of you. Then you ditch your girlfriend to drive to a different _state_ to come save me? And now you’re letting me stay here in your house and _in your bed_ , and you’re not a queer but now you’re letting me _suck your dick_?”

“Do you not want to be here?” Steve asks.

“No, that’s not,” Billy says, then makes a frustrated noise. “I like you guys. I just don’t get why you’re doing it. _Any_ of it. And don’t give me that bullshit about the dreams again. I’m serious. Finding out I’m a down-on-his-luck fag doesn’t cancel out all the other stuff I did to you. And the last guy – the last – you know. He’s in prison. I don’t think he’s ever getting out, and it’s because of me. Doesn’t that fuck with your head?”

“I mean,” Steve says, not understanding. “Not really. You’re one of us. We don’t leave each other behind. When I saw you in that cabin, I knew we had to come get you. It wasn’t just me; it was all of us. That kind of shit comes first, above everything else, because there’s nobody else who gets it except us. You’re going to have a hard time convincing me it’s your fault people died, and that you’re responsible for him going to jail.”

Billy keeps staring at him with a frustrated expression, like he wants Steve to say something he can push back on.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, man,” Steve says. “All I was thinking about was you asking me for help. I wasn’t thinking about what you did before everything happened, and I wasn’t thinking about any of the other dreams.” He can’t think of any other way to explain it. “Family comes first,” he says quietly. “Always. Every time. None of us asked to be family, but we are.”

“I just don’t get you.”

Steve shrugs, the corners of his mouth pulling down, and half-gestures at the fact that they’re still bare ass naked. “I mean, sorta looks like you’ve got me right now.”

“Fuck you, Harrington.” Billy shakes his head, but there’s a smile playing at the edge of his lips. He looks down and picks at the bedspread. “God, you’re such a fucking dweeb.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“You did not,” Billy says. “No _way_ did you just call me a dweeb.”

Steve, almost numb with relief over getting through whatever that was, does his best to jump off the bed, but he’s on the side of the bed against the wall, so Billy catches him around the waist and pulls them both down onto the ground. Billy lands on his back, legs upwards against the bed, and Steve lands face up on top of him, drawing an _oof_ from Billy as he takes Steve’s full weight.

“You happy now?” Billy says, fingers jabbing into Steve’s side, against his ribs and down into the soft part of his stomach. “ _I said,_ are you _happy_ , Harrington?”

Steve isn’t really ticklish, but he still squirms away from Billy on reflex. They half-wrestle for a few minutes, limbs still a little wobbly from sex, until Billy is laughing too much for Steve not to kiss him.

“Stay,” Steve says between kisses. “We want you here.”

“No promises,” Billy says. His kiss says otherwise.

xxx

It’s dark. Cool and humid. Intermittent breeze. Storm on the horizon.

The junkyard has one shitty flood light that flickers on and off as it sways, creaking, in the wind.

The ground is hard and cold and he can hear them in the distance. Can hear them growling at him. Waiting. He’s not going to let his guard down because he can’t, so he keeps himself rotating on the spot, bat clutched in his hands so hard that his fingers are starting to cramp. The back of his neck is slick with cool sweat.

They chatter at him from the darkness. He can’t tell where they are. Distantly, distantly, he thinks this could be a dream, a nightmare, but his heart is pounding so hard it hurts and it might kill him if he believes that voice and this isn’t actually a dream.

“ _STEVE!_ ”

He twists around, nearly stumbling over his own feet. It’s Dustin. Somewhere. Out there, with them. With the demodogs and god knows what else. 

“Dustin?” he calls out uncertainly. He’s met with silence, then a bubbling groan, almost a hiss, and Dustin screams, this time in pain. Steve wants to clap his hands over his ears. Every time he looks in one direction for too long, there’s cool breath over his shoulder, phantom fingers running up his arms, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. In the distance, Dustin moans and screams and Steve can’t _find_ him, is never going to find him out here in the dark by himself. His heart jumps into his throat every time the light overhead buzzes off.

He takes small, shaky steps towards the bus, still spinning slowly so he can see as much of the junkyard at once as he can. The light flickers again and he holds his breath, back pressed up against the door of the mangled bus, until it buzzes back to life.

He gets inside without really knowing how. The door is covered with metal sheets and some sandbags. He goes to sink down on one of the benches in the front, give his shaking legs a break, but misses and hits the floor instead. He sits there for a minute, trembling, before he realizes with a stab that they could be in here with him. Watching him.

He scoots back until he’s on the front steps, then lowers himself until he’s level with the ground. And he sees -- he sees --

“Motherfucker,” he says. He can’t get to the back of the bus fast enough, and when he does, he stumbles back down the aisle, yelling, “Jesus _Christ_ ,” voice cracking, hand pressed over his mouth. He hits the ground again and wants to keep pushing back, getting as much space between himself and -- _that_ as he can, but there’s the sound of quiet gurgling and Steve can’t tell if it’s the demodogs or if he’s choking on his own blood or if it’s all in Steve’s head, so he gets onto his hands and knees and crawls there.

There’s _so much blood_. Steve’s stomach twists and his world goes sideways and the body that was lying face down is now laying face up, and Dustin’s face isn’t as much of a face anymore as it’s a bloodied hole and there’s _no_ way he’s alive, but Steve’s seen stranger things than reanimated faceless corpses, so he crawls forward anyway, teeth chattering, and checks the pulse at his neck. Nothing. He checks the pulse on his wrist but can’t keep a good grip on it anyway because of the blood, but it doesn’t matter, because Dustin is dead, _so_ dead, and it’s Steve’s fault. He should have -- he should --

Another scream. Steve pushes himself to his feet with difficulty, slipping in the thick blood pooling around Dustin.

“ _NANCY!_ ” he yells. He left his bat on the front steps of the bus, _fuck_ , but when he turns back to Dustin he’s back in the junkyard, bat in his hand, and he’s back to turning around and around on the spot until he notices the bloody footprints. His jeans are soaked through with blood. It’s dripping off his shirt. Down his arms. Weighing down his shoulders. The bat slips from his hands. He stares at his fingers, shaking so hard they’re almost spasming. It’s not his blood. _It’s not his blood_.

“STEVE!” Nancy screams. Somewhere. Far. _Somewhere._ She keeps screaming for him, screaming his name, screaming so loud in his ear that Steve has to clap his warm, wet hands over his ears, falling down to his knees.

“Steve,” Billy says, this time more firmly, and Steve jackknifes upright so quickly that he almost smacks their foreheads together. “Woah,” Billy says.

Steve seems to melt back, his muscles too weak to hold him up. He’s shaking so hard he can’t seem to focus on anything. He’s distantly aware of Billy beside him, laying on his stomach with a book in front of him, but he has to close his eyes to stop the panic from creeping up his back.

“Shit. Steve?” He can feel Billy’s fingers on his arm, on his shoulders, and then the skin of his right eyelid is being pulled up and he can see Billy hovering there. “Steve, look at me. I need you to breathe. Steve, you need to take a breath.”

The realization that he’s holding his breath is enough to punch an inhale out of him. The worst of the tremors go immediately. Billy keeps staring at him while he gasps for air, one hand coming up to clutch at his chest, at his throat.

“Fuck,” Billy says hoarsely. “Are you okay? Look, hey. _Hey_.” He slides his hand against Steve’s cheek, thumb pressed against his chin. “I got you, all right? You’re safe. You’re not there anymore, okay? You’re here with me. Just keep looking at me.”

Billy sits there with him while he collects himself. It feels like years. Steve’s chest hurts so bad it feels like he can’t breathe even when he fills up his lungs. But the bedside light is on and Billy is there with him, and Billy knows how to fight, Billy has done it before, did the absolute worst of them all, so he lets the fear go piece by piece by piece until he’s back in his own head. He’s suddenly painfully aware of the fact that his tee shirt is soaked with sweat and sticking to his back, but all he can think to say is, “You lost your page.”

Billy squints at him, then rolls his eyes and uses the momentum of that to throw himself backwards, his arms stretching out alongside Steve’s legs. Steve watches him lay there and rub at his face and whisper _holy fuck_ and _jesus mary and joseph_.

“Sorry,” he says finally, once he figures out how to work his tongue again. He’s so fucking tired. Billy rocks back up so he’s sitting on his ass and shakes his head at Steve.

“Don’t say that,” he says. “It’s not -- that shit’s not your fault, man.”

Steve’s never had someone who _gets it_ there with him afterwards. He woke up from a nightmare not even half as bad as tonight’s while he was dating Gia and she just cried and stared at him and it was so hard to focus on bringing himself down when she was trying to keep herself quiet and out of his way. Billy -- _Billy_. He knows. He gets it. He’s been there. There’s going to be a night where he’s going to wake up screaming and Steve is going to have to figure it out. 

“I’ve never seen someone have a nightmare before,” Billy admits quietly. “It’s so -- fuck, it’s scary from the outside. _Fuck_. It’s scary from the inside, too.” They sit quietly for a minute before Billy produces a glass of water from somewhere around the nightstand, seemingly out of nowhere, and makes Steve take a drink of it, then another, then another, until the glass is empty.

“Fuck,” he says finally. Billy takes the glass from him and goes across the hall to fill it back up. Steve hears the bathwater turn on, and by the time Billy comes back into the room, enough of his brain cells have cobbled themselves together to remember that Billy takes baths. A lot. He’d never thought about it much before.

“Come on,” Billy says when he’s done with the second glass. He jerks his head towards the bathroom. “Always helps me settle back down.” He helps Steve onto unsteady legs and curls an arm around his waist. Billy kisses his temple.

Billy takes his watch off and sets it on the sink, and Steve sits there on the lid of the toilet seat until the bath is full enough. He thinks maybe Billy is going to get in behind him, hold Steve across his chest, but he just helps Steve in and plants himself on the bathmat. They don’t talk. Billy’s hand skims through the water to keep the warmth circulating. He cups a handful of water to pour over Steve’s chest when his skin starts to go dry. His fingers keep bumping Steve’s knee and Steve almost wishes they’d shift lower, press down the inside of his thigh and touch him, because then he would know what to do. Billy is quiet and intense and _taking care of him_ , keeps dribbling the hot tap when the water turns lukewarm, and Steve doesn’t know how to handle it. He wishes he could at least think of something stupid to say so it feels more normal between them.

“Do you like flowers?” Billy asks quietly a little while later. Steve looks at him and Billy won’t meet his eyes for a minute.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess so.”

Billy nods almost solemnly, hesitates, then says, “Hang on,” and goes across the hall into the bedroom. He comes back a minute later with a leather toiletry bag and sets it on the floor out of Steve’s sight before he opens it. Steve can hear the shift of plastic and the quiet _tink_ of glass bottles and Billy keeps glancing up at him, the blush growing on his cheeks.

He finally emerges with a little unmarked bottle and an eyedropper. He drips some of the liquid into the bath, one hand moving forward to mix it into the water while the other goes back into the bag. He has a little jar of salt this time, speckled throughout with purple and yellow, and he pours some in too, leaning over to the faucet for more warm water. Steve can’t stop looking at the blush on his neck and Billy still can’t look him in the eye.

Billy takes a deep breath, hesitating, then places a handful of flower petals, one by one, onto the surface of the water. Steve doesn’t know shit about flowers, but they’re dark purple and must be coated in perfume because between the salt and the liquid and the petals, it starts to smell flowery and earthy, like early spring. He closes his eyes to inhale and opens them again to see Billy hiding a smile, looking relieved and pleased, and Steve realizes that Billy is sharing a secret with him.

“Do you want the light on?” Billy asks. He’s lighting small candles, white and unscented, and leans up over Steve to set a few on the windowsill.

“You can turn it off,” Steve says. He usually spends the rest of the night after his nightmares camped out with a lamp, back against the wall, and jumps at every sound. His muscles still feel weak, but his attention is entirely on Billy, and he thinks he could fall asleep like this, maybe.

Billy folds his arms on the side of the bath and rests his head there, still not looking at Steve. He’s chewing on his lip like he wants to say _this is stupid_ and storm out, or throw a punch, or play it all off as a prank, so Steve decides to interrupt whatever train of thought he’s having by unraveling Billy’s arms until he finds his hands, and twisting their fingers together. Billy stares at their hands, then up at Steve, and Steve knows he should say thank you, but it gets stuck in his throat.

“This reminds me of my mom,” Billy says quietly. “I think she used to smell like this. Flowers or whatever. Earth. She always seemed to make a garden appear, even when all of our neighbors had dead grass. When I was a kid, I thought she was magic.” He smiles, small and faraway, and catches one of the petals between two fingers. “Whenever my dad was away on business, she would tell me all these stories about garden fairies and gnomes and nymphs. Right before we came to Hawkins, I went to Yellowstone with -- and someone had left a little fairy house at the base of one of the trees. I forgot me and her used to make those to put in the garden or in the park or at my nana’s house before she died. And I just stood there looking at it and it felt like she put it there for me. Part of me felt like she was going to burst through the trees and we would run away together. That she would grab me like I was a kid and we would sit on the beach and she would tell me about the nereids and the naiads, the saltwater nymphs and the freshwater nymphs, like she did whenever the sky would start to turn purple and pink above the ocean. She told me the Hesperides, the night nymphs, were pulling a warm blanket over us for bed and that they loved the nereids and wanted to say hi, and that’s why the stars would twinkle so much. They were waving and winking and blowing kisses. Sometimes she would reach out and catch one and give it to me to keep safe, because nymph kisses are rare and sacred and if anyone is lucky enough to get one, they’re guaranteed to be loved their whole life.”

He smiles down at the water, at their entwined hands. Steve heard about El’s vision of Billy as a little boy from Dustin. At the time, it didn’t matter, but now, he’s not sure anything matters more.

“I got this tattoo at the beginning of the summer, same time as the skull one.” He lifts his right arm and drops Steve’s hand to smooth at the scarred skin at the inside of his bicep, the fleshy bit up near his armpit. “It was Poseidon’s trident with three stars above it, small enough for people not to notice. I knew I had to get it wrapped and shit, so I got the skull one too in case my dad said anything.” He flips his arm and runs his fingers over the marred tattoo. “The guy thought I was nuts. Kept saying he shouldn’t be doing up a kid, and I told him if he didn’t do it, I’d just find someone else, and he threw a fucking fit about it the whole time. Hurt like a bitch.”

“Does that one mean anything?” Steve asks, surprising himself at the loudness of his own voice after Billy’s quiet story. Billy blinks a couple of times, coming out of his stupor, and Steve leans forward to touch the skull. “How did you pick it?”

“God,” Billy says, then laughs. “You’re going to think I’m such a fucking loser.”

Steve turns Billy’s arm so he can run his finger over the trident too. His skin is still raised where the stars are and Steve can feel it even though the scarring, almost rough against his fingertips.

“It’s based on a van Gogh painting,” he says, smiling like he’s laughing at himself. He says it like _vuhn cockhh_ , all breathy, like the stuck-up art teacher from Steve’s sophomore year who was so old that he probably knew van Gogh personally. Billy watches Steve’s fingers roving over the trident and stars, then the skull. “He drew a skull smoking a cigarette in an art class as a fuck-you to his teachers. It’s a fuck-you to bullshit traditional ideas of what and how to draw, and how we’re supposed to live. Nothing fucking matters because we’re all skeletons sucking in cancer, and the simple joys are going to come out from between our ribs anyway, if they even make it past our head, and all the shit stuff sticks around and scratches up our bones. And this fucker, he doesn’t even get the cigarette. Doesn’t get that hit. Thinks it’s close, chomps after it like a goddamn moron, but he’s never gonna get it. Look at him. His fucking skull’s cracked in from all the shit that sticks.”

There’s a crease in the middle of Billy’s forehead and he can’t stop looking at it, even though their thumbs are touching where they’re rubbing Billy’s tattoo. Steve pulls his hand away so he can grasp Billy’s head with both of his hands, turn him away from his own goddamn self-portrait, and kisses him. Billy stills, lets Steve kiss his bottom lip and his cupid’s bow, over and over again, the kind of tender that means Steve can hear every single time his lips leave Billy’s. When Billy kisses him back, it’s just as soft, just as gentle and delicate as Steve’s, and he cups the back of Steve’s head in the palm of his hand.

Steve wants to say _thank you for telling me_ and _thank you for showing me_ and _thank you for taking care of me_ but he doesn’t know how.

He doesn’t know who breaks the kiss, but Billy’s leaving barely-there kisses across his cheek, up his cheekbone.

“You’re falling asleep,” he says quietly. He kisses Steve’s earlobe. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He drains the tub while Steve stands and grabs the towel from the rack to dry himself off. He goes to step out of the tub but Billy ducks down to grab him before he can.

“What,” Steve says. Billy makes sure the towel is wrapped over his ass before picking him up, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his hips, and Steve doesn’t get the mechanics of what’s happening but it’s happening anyway. Billy carries him sideways across the hall like he’s a kid and sets him down into the bed, then turns to dig through the drawers for a pair of Steve’s underwear. Steve is too confused, surprised, sleepy, comfortable, _wanting_ , to do anything more than shift his hips up so Billy can pull a pair of briefs up over his legs and over his ass. Steve knows his whole body is flushed and red from how good this feels and how embarrassed he is to be leaning into it. 

Billy throws the towel over the desk chair and slides into the bed next to Steve.

“Do you want the light on?” he says quietly. Steve is mostly asleep, warm from the bath and from the kisses.

“It’s okay,” he says. The room plunges into darkness and he barely notices, all of his sleepy senses focused on the way Billy clutches at him, holds him close, melds their bodies together so Steve is covered. Protected. _Safe_. He doesn’t ever remember being held; only that he’s usually the one doing the holding.

“If anyone asks,” Billy whispers, “I got the skull tattoo because I thought it looked sick as hell.”

Billy kisses his ear and a spot behind his ear and Steve doesn’t remember anything else, because he falls into a dreamless sleep.

xxx

Robin’s end-of-the-year concert comes up two weeks before finals, which is a relief for all of them, because it means Robin will stop pacing up and down the hallway making trumpet noises, which she’d takes to doing after Steve and Billy ban her from playing her actual trumpet in the apartment. Steve sees her that morning and kisses her cheek as she shoves a piece of toast in her mouth and sprints out the door, already half an hour late to her 8am lecture.

Steve meets with Christopher to study for his last in-class quiz that Friday. He’s bad at math, is the problem, and no matter how long he sits and stares at the numbers, they don’t seem to make any sense. Christopher helps a little, but Steve feels a surge of self-consciousness that he’s tried to keep down since he was rejected from college the first time. It’s hard not to be embarrassed by that.

Wendy comes to get them in the library after her practicals so they can walk to the concert hall together. She’s taking an internship this summer in a law firm specializing in protecting people from being falsely accused and Steve can feel the excitement coming off her in waves.

Billy is leaning up against a pole outside of the front doors, dressed in black slacks and a button-up, and Steve has to focus on walking so he doesn’t stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s not until they’re closer that Steve notices the bouquet of pink roses in his hand.

“Hey,” Steve calls. Billy smiles and waves at the three of them and gives Wendy a hug when they reach him.

“Hey yourself.” Steve stands next to Billy and uses the crowd around them as an excuse to hover a little closer than he might otherwise. Billy touches him on the lower back, just five pressure points, their little secret, and Steve wants more than anything to wrap an arm around his waist, to show Christopher and Wendy and everyone around him how mind-boggling it is that he and Billy Hargrove are _something_.

“How’s physical therapy going?” Wendy asks.

“Stronger by the day,” Billy lies, grinning. “I think the limp’s a lost cause, but beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. Were you guys able to find an apartment for the summer?”

“Yeah! We found a sublet in Lincoln Park, right by the zoo.”

“You all should come by sometime,” Christopher says. “We’ll probably do a little housewarming shindig or something.”

“That would be awesome,” Steve says. “We’re probably gonna stay in the same place, but we’re invading once it’s nice enough for the beach.” He wiggles his fingers at them and Billy bumps his shoulder, rolling his eyes.

It’s a big turn-out, probably double the size of the last time. The best part is that there’s no sign of Edgar. The four of them find a few seats on the far right of the auditorium near one of Wendy’s friends. Billy’s on the outside, sitting between Steve and some parents. When they sit down, Maggie and Tess walk past with Matt, and Maggie does a little jump and wave until they see her.

“Are you still coming to summer try-outs next week, Billy?” she calls down the row. He gives her two thumbs up. “Rad! Enjoy the show, guys. We’re cheering for Robin.”

“You’re gonna go?” Steve asks, pleased.

“I figured it’d check it out.” He goes for the too-cool-to-care drawl he had in high school, but he and Steve have been attached at the hip since Eric’s party and Steve can see how nervous he is. “Figure I should give you and Robin a break from being my only entertainment.”

Steve bumps their shoulders together, laughing, and doesn’t move away. “I’m glad you’re going.”

“It’ll be fun,” Billy says, sounding a bit like he’s trying to convince himself. “I don’t know, we’ll see if my leg fucks me over. I wasn’t doing much running around in the woods.”

“Are you boys students?” One of the women next to Billy asks, leaning forward to see the both of them. She’s looking a little teary-eyed like she’s been trying to stop herself bawling her eyes out for the last hour.

Billy flashes her one of his winning smiles.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. Steve gives her a tight smile. 

“Ooh,” she says, delighted. “Do you know my Benjamin?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says, voice a low drawl. “Does he have his mom’s beautiful eyes?” Steve steps on his foot, probably with a little more force than necessary. He and Billy haven’t been out much together since they started whatever it is they’re doing, and though Billy’s over-the-top seduction crap isn’t exactly unexpected, he finds it doesn’t really sit well with him.

The mom laughs and buries her face in her hands in embarrassment. Wendy leans over Christopher to tap Steve on the knee and whisper, “He’s a flirt!”

“He tries to be,” Steve responds flatly.

Billy puts the back of his hand on Steve’s chest to push him out of the way, then says, “He’s just jealous he doesn’t have my natural charm and good looks.”

“You’re a perv.”

“I thought we just established that your opinion isn’t relevant here.” Billy grins at him, all teeth, and he’s close enough that Steve can feel the blush creeping up his neck.

“You two are ridiculous.” She and Christopher are both laughing.

The lights go down not long after. When the first piece starts, Billy’s fingers find Steve’s and he touches their fingertips together. If Steve crosses his legs, nobody can see their hands clasped between their seats.

Robin is sitting towards the back in the brass section. Steve can only see her knees, but the Daffy Duck Band-Aids up and down her legs give her away. He’s never really liked orchestral music, never went to any of the Hawkins High performances until Dustin joined band and he didn’t have a choice. He recognizes some of the songs from Robin’s practicing and is mesmerized first by the conductor waving his arms around, then by the silhouette of Billy’s free hand tapping along to the beat against his leg.

Right before the lights come up, Billy drops his hand, then skims his palm up to squeeze the meat of Steve’s thigh, more affection than anything else. Steve pulls him to his feet to join the standing ovation, even though he’d rather see Robin and go home. When the brasses stand, he and Billy hoot and holler loud enough to be heard over everyone else and Robin tries and fails to hide her laugh behind her hand.

“They did so well!” Wendy says when the lights come up and they’re all shuffling out towards the exits along with the rest of the crowd. “Was Robin nervous?”

Billy makes a face and both he and Steve burst out laughing.

“I thought she was going to crawl into bed with,” Steve says, then stutters over _us_ and into, “me.” Billy elbows him in the side.

“She kept making Steve sit and listen to her practice so he could give her points, even though I’m pretty sure he couldn’t tell a flute and tuba apart.”

“Asshole.”

They hover outside of the building with the other clumps of people waiting to see their friends or kids. It’s a warm night and Steve takes a deep breath, suddenly aware of how close it is to summer. The moon is shining bright overhead despite the brown-purple of the light pollution.

Someone shoulders past him, and Billy says something rude, and when Steve turns, it’s to see Edgar looking absolutely livid.

“Hey,” Steve says, confused. He hasn’t seen Edgar since -- shit. Before they found Billy.

“I know Gia lied to me,” he spits.

“What?” Steve glances back at Christopher and Wendy, and then at Billy, as if one of them might know what he’s talking about. “What did she say?”

Edgar’s eyes shift from left to right and he leans in closer to Steve. “Robin’s not a lesbian,” he says under his breath. Billy shuffles his feet. “You just don’t want me to date her. I don’t _get it.”_

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated by the fact that this is _still a conversation_. “She’s not into you, man. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.” Edgar starts shaking his head before Steve’s even finished talking.

“Look, Harrington,” he starts, one finger coming up to point at Steve’s chest. Billy cuts him off.

“She’s taken, hombre,” he says.

Edgar laughs meanly and says, “Nice try, but I’m not falling for that one, buddy. Who the hell _is_ this clown, Harrington?” Steve can see Billy’s mild surprise at the reaction. He reaches up to tug at his hair almost subconsciously and Steve watches his fingers grasp at his short, messy curls, then smooth down the back of his neck. He recovers quickly.

“You goddamn weasel,” he says, stepping forward just a bit and puffing out his chest. Even though Edgar’s taller than him by several inches, Billy is really, _really_ good at looking like he’s about to tear you a new one. “You wanna keep trying to fuck my girl? So be it.” He throws an elbow up onto Steve’s shoulder and rolls his neck to crack it and to show off the big scar that runs from his under his shirt to right below his ear. Edgar looks like he wants to argue, but then Billy lets that slow, nasty, shark smile spread over his face and Edgar pales.

“Fine, man. Whatever.” Edgar digs in his pocket and throws a velvet box at Steve, who catches it and tries not to make a big deal out of how proud he is of himself for not dropping it.

“I have never seen that guy run off so fast,” Christopher says, impressed, as they watch him disappear into the crowd. “God, he sucks.”

“Who is he?” He and Steve turn back to Christopher and Wendy, and Billy drops his elbow to throw his arm around Steve’s neck instead. He’s warm and smells good and Steve wants to press a sloppy kiss against his neck. “And what the fuck did he just give you?”

Steve hands it over to Wendy, who pops it open. They all stare down at the box, the golden R sitting in the middle of its red interior shimmering in the shitty auditorium lighting. It looks very expensive. Billy whistles through his teeth.

“That’s Edgar,” Christopher tells him.

“He’s really into Robin,” Steve continues, “and doesn’t get the hint that he sucks and she’s not interested.”

Billy’s brow creases and he looks over his shoulder in the direction Edgar had disappeared. “I can take care of him, if you want,” he says quietly. His breath is warm on Steve’s cheek.

“Don’t,” he says. “He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

“He is _loaded_ ,” Christopher adds. “And half the people in his family are lawyers. Honestly, though, it would be pretty great to see someone knock him down a peg.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be the one to do it,” Steve tells Billy, who makes a face.

“You’re no fun, Princess.”

“You’re not actually dating Robin, are you?” Wendy asks. “She’s dating -- what’s his name. The tall one, the one she’s always with.”

“Drew,” Steve and Christopher say together. Steve goes on: “They’re not dating either.”

Robin suddenly ducks into view, face shining with sweat. Clara is next to her and it’s only now that Steve remembers that she works backstage. He figured she was sitting with her friends. Both of them are grinning.

“Hi!” Robin says, going up on her tiptoes to lean into Steve’s hug. He picks her off the ground and shakes her around a bit.

“You did great,” Steve says, kissing her cheek even though he’s sure her cakey foundation smears onto his nose. “Both of you.”

“Oh, bull,” she says, still beaming, and gives Billy a hug, too. Steve reaches out to pull Clara into his side. “You couldn’t even see me.”

“But we could _hear_ you.” She rolls her eyes as she hugs Christopher and Wendy.

“Again, I call bull. I could, however, hear _you_ two.” She pokes both Steve and Billy in the chests as hard as she can, and both of them rub the spot like it hurt way more than it actually did.

“We’re gonna head out,” Christopher says a few minutes later. “I have some freshmen to tutor in the morning. Kudos, guys, both of you.”

“See you at breakfast,” Steve calls after them.

“I can help you study,” Billy says quietly.

“I’m honestly not sure if we can guarantee anything will get done.”

Billy nods, the corners of his mouth pulling down. “Yeah, all right, I can see that.”

“Okay, we’re going to a party,” Robin says, waving above the crowd to Drew, who’s making his way over. “You two are gross, please leave.”

Steve shakes Drew’s hand and exchanges pleasantries and says no thanks to an invitation to the party and yeah it’s going all right when he asks about studying. Robin grins at Steve and Billy, her makeup drying in thick blotches, links an arm through Clara’s -- and then they’re off.

The first few minutes of the walk back to the apartment are quiet. They keep bumping elbows while they people-watch along the main road. 

“That sucked balls,” Billy says. Steve laughs louder than he means to, startling them both, and Billy grins at him. “I’m serious! Look, I’m not an idiot. I can tell my Chopin from my Brahms as good as the next guy.”

“Those aren’t even real people,” Steve tells him. “You totally just made them up.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “ _Anyway_. Their _Rite over Spring_ was ass over tits, man. They need to learn to fuckin’ blend.”

“Their right to spring.”

“It’s Stravinsky, dumbass.”

 _“God_. I keep forgetting you’re a nerd.” Billy laughs, a loud, beautiful laugh that has him throwing his head back. Steve can almost see him: long hair, earring, jean jacket. Cigarette dangling from his mouth while he shouts insults at Steve’s back.

“I’m not a nerd, shitstain.” Billy bumps their shoulders with a little more force than necessary. “I know how to read, that’s all.”

“You fucked like half of Hawkins,” Steve says, exasperated. “How did you have _time_ to learn this shit? You can’t read music like that, man. Were you listening to this shit while you were having sex?” Billy laughs again and Steve stops to jerk his hips forward once, twice, and in rapid succession, as if to the crescendo of a song, swinging his head along with it.

“You really think you’re cute, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I am.” Steve throws an arm around Billy’s shoulders and they keep walking. “Seriously, though. You’re a fucking geek.”

“I was at the library a lot when I was a kid. Better than going home. I don’t know, I like math. It’s one of the only things that actually makes sense, you know? There’s always a clear path you gotta follow. y=x2 or whatever. Music’s just math.”

“Sure,” Steve says.

“School was one thing my dad didn’t ever give me shit about. I was in all AP classes in California. When you’re a kid and can’t go anywhere without your parents’ permission, you can either play sports or you can hole up in your room and read. And my dad always liked to knock me around, ever since I was a little kid, but whenever I brought home a straight-A report card, he’d go a little easier.”

Now that they’re off the main road, Steve chances it and presses a kiss to Billy’s temple.

“I don’t really see your dad as a classical music type of guy,” Steve says.

Billy laughs. “Oh, yeah, no. Damian was. Do you know how much fucking time I spent listening to that shit? I wanted to impress him so bad. I don’t even _like_ it.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

“Literally nobody in the universe has ever said that about me.” Billy grins at him. “I’m the most romantic guy out there. I’m a fuckin’ knight in shining armor.”

“I think you got a little…” Steve licks his thumb and wipes it in a strip across Billy’s forehead and gets smacked in the face for his troubles. “Sorry, there was a smudge. Now you’re so shiny I can see myself.” Steve leans in a little bit, pretends to pick his teeth. Billy shoves him away and ducks out from under his arm.

“God, why do I even bother with you?” he asks.

“Because I’m hot.”

“Ugh, you’re right. I’m thinking with the wrong head.”

Back at the apartment, Steve pulls out a box of leftover pizza and they stand at the counter together eating it cold. Steve gives him more background on Edgar and Billy shakes his head a lot and says, “Are you sure I can’t bash his head in?”

They make out for a while, going slow. Steve doesn’t have class until noon tomorrow, so he has all the time in the world.

“Could only think of one thing that entire concert,” Billy says into his mouth. A tingle runs down Steve’s spine to the cleft of his ass, where Billy’s thumb is rubbing lazy circles. Steve hums into his mouth, opens it a little bit more so they can kiss deeper.

“You wanna tell me about it?” Steve asks cheekily. He bites at Billy’s jaw and nudges at the bruise there.

“Mmm.” Billy rolls his hips and Steve gasps against his cheek. “Yeah, baby.” Billy bites his ear, kisses the lobe, and whispers, “ _We’re gonna get you to fuckin’ ace that exam_.”

xxx

Dustin calls him the week before finals to gush about this girl he met at an AV competition. Steve still doesn’t know what AV means, let alone that there are competitions for it. Dustin turns sixteen in just a few weeks and his mom is _finally_ letting him get his permit, so he’s going to drive the hour and a half to Louisville to see her. Within the first five minutes of the call, Steve knows more about this chick than he knows about any girl he’s ever dated.

“Woah, spaz. Pump the breaks, man. You guys hook up?”

The front door opens while Dustin is squawking and defending her sensitive virtues and Billy comes in wearing a sweat-soaked, long-sleeve shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and clutching a gym bag Steve found buried in the closet. He smiles and Steve waves him over and clamps his fingers over the mouthpiece so he can kiss Billy.

“How was it?” he asks in an undertone. Dustin is still ranting. Billy smells like sweat and deodorant and himself and something about that combination is making Steve feel a little heady. He kisses Billy’s damp neck, tasting him.

“It was good,” Billy whispers. “This guy Jude is about to go back to Seattle for the summer, so Maggie says I can take his place. Most of the other people are sticking around, so we should have some solid ball for most of the summer. Who are you talking to?”

“Dustin.” Steve puts an arm around his waist to get him closer. He knows Billy is watching him with half-lidded eyes and an amused smile, but he returns every kiss he gets, so clearly he doesn’t care that much.

“Keep your shirt on, amigo,” Billy says, laughing. “At least let me take a shower before you get your dick out.” Steve must make a sound because Billy’s eyebrows climb a little higher and he says, “Don’t tell me you’re getting fat over my funky gym rat stink.”

Steve is saved from admitting that maybe he is by Dustin saying, “Steve? You still there, buddy?”

“Sorry, Billy just got back from playing basketball.” Billy kisses his jaw and bites his earlobe and Steve _really_ doesn’t know what Dustin’s been talking about at all the past couple minutes, but even if the topic has already changed, he can always bring it back to the girl. “Your girl sounds really cool. Props to you, man.”

Steve can practically feel Dustin swelling with pride on the other end of the line. “I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’s really cool.”

“What are you guys doing in Indianapolis?” Steve asks. That buys him a few more minutes of hot-and-heavy making out with Billy, which needs to _end_ , but he smells awful and tastes worse and Steve can’t seem to drag himself away.

“All right,” Billy says eventually, laughing and pushing Steve back a little. He pries Steve’s leg from where’s it’s rucked up at his waist. “Thanks for the homecoming. Finish talking to your dweeb and I’ll give _you_ a homecoming.” He unravels Steve’s arm from around him and walks backwards towards the hallway. “Heavy on the coming.”

Steve palms himself through his jeans just for the look of glee on Billy’s face.

“King Steve’s a _slut_!” he yells, definitely loud enough for Dustin to hear, and punches his fist in the air. “ _Woooo!_ ”

“Jesus,” Steve says.

“What did he say?” Dustin asks.

“Nothing. He’s just being a dick.” Steve slides down the wall and hits the ground with an _oomf_. 

“How’s that going? No murders yet?”

Steve sighs. “You’re gonna have to get over your thing with him, man. He’s a good guy.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And you keep not believing me.”

The hardest adjustment to being with Billy is knowing that Dustin isn’t going to accept it. He _wants_ to tell Dustin. Wants to say something when he visits for Dustin’s birthday. He can’t hold Billy’s hand or take him on dates or kiss him in public, but he _should_ be able to tell one of his _best friends_ without anticipating very specific questions about his home security protocols and whether or not he locks his bedroom door at night. Billy’s not perfect, but neither is Steve. If he was some guy he met in college, Dustin wouldn’t have any issue with it at all. At least, he hopes not.

The guy part is weird, thinking about dick and getting hard is weird, but it’s more -- new. Being with Billy feels good. Steve likes him now that he’s not getting his face beat in. They would have been friends a long time ago if Billy had given him an inch. There’s so much that he didn’t let anyone see in Hawkins, and Steve doesn’t know if it’s because he’s away from his dad or because he died and came back to life. Maybe he was home reading books and taking lavender baths when he wasn’t kegging with the schmucks Steve had known since they were all in diapers. That doesn’t seem all that likely.

He gets butterflies when he sees Billy looking at him, or when he comes home to find Billy asleep on the couch, or when Billy asks if he wants to go grocery shopping together. He and Robin get along, probably way too much, and that gives Steve butterflies too. Billy _gets it_ , gets all of it, in a way Gia didn’t and couldn’t and won’t ever, and there’s so much comfort in the fact that he doesn’t have to explain himself at all.

“I don’t trust people who almost killed you, Steve. That’s why I don’t trust Nancy.”

Steve wipes a hand down his face. “Why don’t you trust Nancy?” he asks, resigned.

“She broke your heart, man! Tell me you don’t think you can actually die from a broken heart. _Tell me_ you’re not a romantic. Go on, I dare you.”

“You can’t actually die from a broken heart.”

“Uh, you definitely can.”

“Name one person who died from a broken heart.”

Dustin splutters. “I mean, you know. _Cutting Crew_.”

“ _I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight_ isn’t about dying from a broken heart. It’s about getting fucked. Plus, the band didn’t _actually die_.”

“Yeah, fucked _over_.”

“Nope, no, just regular fucked.”

“ _Total Eclipse of the Heart_. Her… life. Is eclipsed. By _death_. _HER_ death.”

“That is the stupidest argument I’ve ever heard. Have you ever listened to the radio before?”

“Some of us are more focused on getting into MIT, Steve. Some of us are trying to get into _Harvard_.”

The bathroom door opens and Steve can’t not look up. Billy whistles between his teeth anyway to get his attention and flashes Steve, first his ass then his dick, then winks and shuts the bedroom door behind him. Steve falls on his ass trying to scramble to his feet.

“Hey, I gotta go, buddy.”

“What was that? Did someone just whistle?”

“It, uhh, it was the pizza guy.”

“Why is the pizza guy whistling at you?”

“At Robin,” Steve says. “I gotta go kick his ass.”

“Be careful,” Dustin says. “You’re not all that good at fighting!”

xxx

“Do you think this is at all convincing?”

Billy comes out of the bedroom and into the living room, takes one look at the couch, and walks away again. Steve throws his hands up and follows him.

“Okay, what am I missing? Some, like, come stains or something? Empty condom wrappers?”

Billy points to the bed. “Look at this. Commit it to memory.”

Steve tries to elbow him in the stomach, but Billy dodges him. “I know what my bed looks like.” 

It’s too small, first of all, and the blankets are kicked to the end of the bed because they fooled around this morning. There’s only one pillow at the top of the bed, now, but there are normally two, smushed together so each of them can lay claim to at least some sort of space. Billy’s book is on the bedside table next to a nearly empty tub of Vaseline.

“Ah,” Billy says, and grabs Steve’s arm to lead him back into the living room.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Yeah, all right, I see it now.”

“Who tucks sheets into a couch like that? What are you, a hotel?”

“I was trying to make it look nice!”

“Steve, it’s a _couch_.”

“Uh, well, for all intents and purposes, it’s actually my bed, so if you could show a little more respect?”

“There’s books.” Billy points to the ground where Steve has three paperbacks neatly stacked next to a Rubix cube. “My sister is not actually going to fall for that, you know. She probably thinks you’re illiterate.”

Steve goes for the elbow again and Billy throws an arm up to catch him around the neck instead and puts him in a headlock. They tussle for a bit; Billy tries to throw Steve over his shoulder and Steve tries to knock Billy’s feet out from under him. 

“Okay, fine,” Steve says when they call it a draw. Billy puts his hand in Steve’s back pocket as a consolation prize for both of them. “So maybe I’m trying to impress her a bit.”

“ _Ooooh_.” Billy tucks his nose into Steve’s neck. “You tryin’ to make her think you’re not corrupting her poor, sweet, innocent brother with your wicked ways?”

“Yeah, like anyone’s gonna believe that.” Billy lightly headbutts him in the chin. “You’re telling _me_ , Steve ‘Bambi Eyes’ Harrington, that _I’m_ the one perverting Billy Hargrove, Hawkins’ own jean jacket whore?”

“Mmm,” Billy says, a little dreamily. “Steve ‘Jean Jacket Whore’ Harrington. I can get behind that.”

xxx

Steve doesn’t miss how Max’s face falls a little when she sees it’s just him at the bus station.

“Hey, squirt,” he says, reaching an arm out for a hug. She leans into him, smiling and smelling like stale air and perfume. “He, uh, he’s back at the apartment. He wanted to come but didn’t want any… unexpected companions to show up, if you know what I mean.”

Max nods and gets into the passenger seat of the car. “I kept an eye out on the roads while we were coming up to make sure I didn’t see Neil’s car or anything. I don’t think he knows.”

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“Joyce is going to call later tonight to tell him I made it there okay. If Mom asks to talk to me, she’s just going to say I’m tired from the ride and that me and El passed out watching movies or something.”

“You’ve really got this all figured out,” he says, impressed. He expects her to press her face up to the glass to see the skyline, but she just sits quietly picking at her jeans. “What’s up?”

She looks up, surprised, like she didn’t realize she was showing her worry on her face. “Is he doing okay?” she asks. “When I talked to him a few days ago, he sounded sad.”

Steve nods. “Yeah. He gets mood swings a lot. He’s usually in a good mood, I think. Definitely way more chilled out than he used to be. Other times he’s a dick, and then there’s the days or weeks where he can’t get out of bed and won’t eat or talk to anyone. Those don’t happen as much anymore, though.”

“But they still happen,” she says.

He shrugs. “We all have down days.”

“Don’t tell him I asked you this,” she says suddenly. “Is he… I mean. Is it… gone?”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He wonders the same thing sometimes; not because Billy’s acting unusually violent or anything, but because things have genuinely been going all right for the three of them. After everything that happened in Hawkins, it feels like the drama sort of fizzled out. Sometimes he feels like he’s holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Billy makes him _happy_. So happy. And that’s cause for suspicion, in Steve’s book.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I want to say that it is. I’m like 99% sure it’s gone.”

“But you’re still wondering,” she says, “because it’s just… done.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Max inhales and straightens her back so she’s sitting nice and tall. “This is going to be, like, a really fun week. You’re still here for a bit, right? You’re going to hang out with us?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow and then I’m gonna leave for Hawkins the next morning. I’ll be back to take you to the bus station, though.”

She grins at him and is barely able to sit still for the rest of the car ride.

Steve detours north so they can bring Portillo’s home for lunch, then slings Max’s overstuffed backpack over his shoulder and carries it up the three flights of stairs. She tries to argue, but he shouts, “Max? Max, are you still out here? Do you hear that noise? I can’t tell what it wants. Am I stuffed up with earwax or something? Max, are you there?” until she calls him a bastard and carries up the shakes and Billy’s coffee.

Max sucks in a deep breath when they get to the front door of the apartment and Steve pauses before he puts the key into the lock.

“You all right?” he asks.

She nods. “Just. I’m a bit nervous. I don’t even know why I’m here. It’s not like we were ever close or anything.”

“Hey,” Steve says, turning to face her more fully. “He’s excited to see you, all right? Like, it’s all he’s talked about for the past month. I’m pretty sure he was, like, cha-cha’ing in the kitchen this morning when I left to pick you up.”

She laughs quietly and wipes at her eyes with the side of her hand. “Really?”

“I promise. If I had a hand, I’d do a spit shake.”

“Ugh,” she says with a watery laugh. “Trust me, between Dustin and Lucas, spit shakes are, like, at least half of my life. I like not doing them whenever I can.”

Steve smiles at her and lets her take a few deep breaths before asking, “You ready?”

When they walk in, Billy jumps up from where he’s been sitting on the living room couch, probably rubbing his head and worrying. He’d pushed his face into Steve’s stomach last night and tried to pretend he wasn’t crying. Steven eventually got him to admit how scared he is about the possibility of Max _still_ not liking him. About him still not being good enough. He barely slept the whole night. 

“Honey, we’re home,” Steve calls. He thinks he’s pretty darn cute, but neither of them gives any indication that they heard him, so he shuts the door behind Max and goes to drop the bags of food on the kitchen table. He goes back to get the drinks from her so they can hug, then sits at the table to distribute the food while they have a moment to themselves. He has to stop himself from reaching out to rub Billy’s back when they come to join him.

“I brought you some of your stuff,” Max says a while later, once Steve has broken through the awkwardness by making dumb remarks until they’re both laughing.

“What kind of stuff?” Billy’s shoulders are suddenly stiff. Steve had never considered that someone had to clean out Billy’s room after he died, but of course they did. Steve imagines his parents cleaning out his bedroom back home, then adds in some gay porno magazines that Billy probably had stashed somewhere and has to suppress a shudder. 

“I grabbed some things before they packed your stuff up. I got the cigar box you used to put all the stuff your mom sent you in and some of your cassettes and books. I got it all before I knew you were alive or else I would have gotten you more meaningful stuff.”

“No, that’s awesome, Max,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

She nods, avoiding his gaze. “Neil wouldn’t let me and Mom help clean up your room, so I don’t know where the rest of your stuff went. I’m sorry. I only remembered the cigar box because I only ever saw it around your birthday, and once I went into your room and it was on your bed.” She flinches like she’s expecting him to yell at her. When he doesn’t, she looks over at Steve, confused.

“No jean jacket?” Steve jokes, elbowing Billy in the ribs. Billy rolls his eyes.

After they eat, Billy leads them into the bedroom and Max unloads his things onto the floor. Steve doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He realizes that Max has never seen the two of them interact before outside of beating each other up, so there are an infinite number of ways to fuck this up. Should he sit on the bed or is that too much? Should he stand in the doorway or is that weird? Should he even be in here at all? Suddenly, he feels like Max being here is like having to be on his best behavior for The Parents. He hasn’t felt this kind of nervous since the first time Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler invited him over for dinner.

Billy waves him over though, saving him from making the choice. “Sit down, you perv,” he says. “Don’t hover in the doorway like that, you look like you’re waiting for your mom to yell at you because she walked in on you jerking it.”

“Gross,” Max groans.

“That’s a disturbingly specific scenario,” Steve says, but drops down next to him anyway, relieved.

Max stacks the books and cassettes in little piles; the last thing to come out is the cigar box. Billy’s hands shake when he reaches for it, so he goes for the tapes instead.

“These are seriously the ones you picked?” he says, laughing. Max goes red. “Like, you thought I was dead, and you went into my room and grabbed the Culture Club and the fuckin’ Beatles?”

“Hey,” Steve says, offended, and grabs Yellow Submarine out of his hand. “I like this album.”

“They are so overrated,” Billy argues.

“Your face is overrated,” Steve shoots back.

“Good one. _Yellow Submarine_ is the same seven words over and over and over. And _Eleanor Rigsby_ , like -- god, get a fucking life.”

“Is there a screw loose in there or something?” Steve flicks Billy’s temple, then flushes when he remembers they’re not supposed to be touching each other in front of Max. “Why do you have them anyway when you don’t even like them?”

“When your shithole dad doesn’t know what to get you for your birthday and has to stop at the gas station on his way home from the bar,” Billy says, pointing the tape at him, “and he goes to pay, he sees some shitty cassettes on the counter and remembers it’s your birthday, so he grabs one of ‘em. Happy birthday, Billy.” He raps Steve in the nose with it, winks, and turns to the books. Max looks at Steve with wide eyes and mouths, _what the fuck_? Steve shrugs and responds, _told you so_. Maybe she’ll pass it on to Dustin and he’ll get off Steve’s back.

He’s happier about the books. The spines are cracked and the pages are dog-eared and the covers are scuffed from being carried around. He grins looking at them all and touches each of their covers, almost reverently.

He opens the cigar box slowly like he’s expecting something to jump out at him. Inside is a tangle of necklaces, rings, and some heavily creased scraps of paper. He touches them lightly like if he holds on too long, they’ll turn to dust.

“My mom always used to send me necklaces with saints on them after she left,” he explains, the corner of his mouth quirking up. Steve forgot about the chain he used to wear around his neck. He watches Billy grab the tangled chains and shake them so they tinkle against each other. “She said they were to keep me safe or whatever. Clearly did me a lot of good.” He drops them back into the box, shoves the lid on, and smiles at Max. “Thanks, kid.”

“Sorry it wasn’t better.” She looks disappointed in herself, like she should have known he was going to turn up alive a year later. 

“Better,” Billy scoffs. He holds out his arms. “C’mere. I said, _c’mere_.” She knee-walks awkwardly into the circle of his arms, and once she realizes he’s not going to be a dick about it, she loops an arm around his neck and buries her face in his shoulder.

xxx

The clock finally _finally_ says it’s 3am, which means they’ve all been asleep for three hours, which means he should be in the clear if he can make it down the hall without an issue. Max doesn’t come out of Robin’s room when he stops outside Billy’s door, so he takes the chance and slips inside, locking the door behind him. Billy is sleeping on his stomach, one arm thrown out over the other side of the bed. Steve can only see him in the little bit of light streaming in through the window from across the street. He gets onto the bed and straddles Billy’s hips.

“Jesus,” Steve says when he doesn’t wake up. He shifts down so he can get his dick up against Billy’s asscrack and hunkers down so he can kiss Billy’s neck and bite at his ear while he rubs off.

“Wha,” Billy mumbles when he finally wakes up. “Steve?”

“I forgot I’m going to be gone for, like, five days,” he says, voice a little tight. The friction of his underwear and the muscles of Billy’s ass are working wonders. “And I thought, you know what’s a lot better than my right hand to keep me company back at home? Riding the fuck out of Billy’s ass before I go.”

Billy makes a cut-off moan, like he’s been punched in the gut, and arches a bit against Steve’s pressure. “Fuck, Harrington,” he says, voice muffled into the pillow.

“Wanted to touch you all fucking day,” Steve whispers. “Hard to keep my hands to myself. Max didn’t grab your jean jacket, so you’re gonna have to make do with just Steve ‘Whore’ Harrington.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy says weakly.

“Can you,” Steve says, and there’s some shifting while Billy goes up on his elbows to rifle through the side table drawer for the Vaseline and Steve takes off his underwear and then Billy’s, getting a bit distracted with heavy petting when he bumps Billy’s erection.

They find a good rhythm, Billy pushing up against him, flexing his ass, and Steve pushing down. When Steve comes, he tries to make it as messy as possible and get all over Billy’s ass and in between his thighs. Billy pounds on the bed next to him with his fist.

“ _Steve_ ,” he hisses, voice tight and hoarse. “How am I supposed to be quiet with you back there doing that?”

Steve nudges him onto his back, panting, and takes Billy into his mouth before he even has time to process any of it. Billy grabs the hair at the crown of his head, his grip tight, and bites the skin of his forearm to keep himself quiet. He comes and Steve tries to swallow it even though he doesn’t particularly like it, but he coughs and gags on Billy’s dick and has to pull off before Billy’s done.

“What the fuck,” Billy says quietly, twitching. Steve crawls up to the top of the bed and nudges Billy’s head over until they can share the pillow; then he collapses half on top of him and kisses his chin. “Like -- _what the fuck_.”

“I couldn’t wait,” Steve says. Now that he’s flaccid again, he’s starting to feel a little embarrassed at how hot and heavy he came in. Maybe he should have woken Billy up first.

“No kidding,” Billy says. He smooths a hand over the top of his head and lets out a loud exhale. “Mother _fucker_.”

“You all right?”

Billy stares at him, eyes wide and pupils blown out. “Am I fucking all right? God, wake me up like that all the time. I don’t care if it’s eight times a night. Holy _shit_ , Harrington.”

Steve hides his face in the pillow.

“God,” Billy says again. “Oh my God, I thought I was going to lose it there – fuckin’ came all over me. Fuck. Thought I was going to wake Max up.”

“Door’s locked,” Steve says, voice muffled.

“Good thinking,” Billy says. “ _Jesus Christ_. God, get me the smelling salts or something.”

Steve rubs a hand across his chest, the quiet scratch of his skin on Billy’s sweater the only sound in the room for a while. “‘m g’na fall asleep.”

Billy cards a hand through his hair. “You gotta go back out onto the couch.”

Steve leans up to kiss him. “I can’t fall asleep out there.”

“Well, you just fucked yourself six ways from Sunday, so you might be able to now.”

“But you’re not out there.” Steve kisses his cheek again, dead set on being petulant, even knowing that the night’s not going to end with them falling asleep together.

“I’m gonna be honest,” Billy says, “I am about ten seconds away from going into a coma because I got fucked awake by Steve Harrington. Move your scrawny ass so I can wash your jizz off, so I don’t have to run into my sister in the hallway tomorrow morning with dried spunk in my asscrack.”

Steve groans and gets up too to pull his underwear back up over his hips and throw the bedsheet towards the hamper, and digs through his drawer for another shirt. Billy kisses his cheek and goes into the bathroom.

Steve casts one last sad look at the bed before returning to the couch. He doesn’t miss camping out here. Before Billy kissed him and he got to move back into his own bedroom, he was already developing back problems from trying to fit his body onto the shitty cushions.

He hears the toilet flush and then Billy’s quiet footsteps coming down the hall towards the living room. 

“Are you okay?” Steve whispers. Billy does an unnecessarily dramatic double-take. “Was that all right?”

“Am I okay, he asks, was it all right.” He drops down onto his knees next to the couch so he can kiss Steve. “Sorry, nobody’s home up here, you killed every brain cell I had left. Fuck you, Harrington, let me wake you up by rubbing my dick against your asscrack, and then you can tell me if I’m all right.” Billy kisses him again, blunt fingernails scratching lazily at the back of Steve’s head.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Steve says, amused, as Billy moves down to kiss his neck. He’s so glad the lights are off so Billy can’t see how embarrassed he is. He’s not used to _taking_. 

“Mmm,” Billy says. The sound vibrates into Steve’s throat. “Five more minutes.”

xxx

Max hasn’t ever been to a big city outside of California, so she’s down to do whatever. They take the bus to the Shedd Aquarium and Steve can’t help but see thirteen-year-old Max in the way her eyes go wide at the sheer size of the building and at the Caribbean Reef. Robin is excited too even though she and Clara venture into this part of the city way more regularly than Steve does. Billy hovers by the tank to watch the keepers feed the sharks. 

“They’re going to eat his head!” a little girl in front of them shrieks, hiding her face in her mom’s legs as her brothers cheer.

He distantly remembers coming here as a kid with his parents and wishing he could swim as fast as the blue tangs and the triggerfish. His dad bought him a stuffed otter and laughed so much with Steve up on his shoulders. Less stress wrinkles, less gray. It was before he got his glasses, too. Steve can’t remember the last time he saw his dad smiling.

It’s only noon by the time they’re done with the Shedd, so they get deep dish like tourists and argue over whether they should go to the Art Institute or the Field Museum. Billy declares that he’s not voting since he’s legally dead, so Robin pouts and they go to the Field.

They spend a lot of time in the Gods, Spirits, and People exhibit, Billy hovering in front of the African artifacts while Max zips between glass cases. Steve goes to stand next to him and bumps their shoulders when he sees the wrinkle between Billy’s eyebrows.

“This chick’s got a beard,” he says, nodding to the fertility statues. Steve looks closer and -- yep. 

“‘The Dogon people believe that the perfect being is made of both a man and a woman’,” Steve reads. “‘Many pieces of Dogon art feature hermaphroditic figures to represent the perfect harmony between the two genders’.”

“That’s fuckin’ homophobic,” Billy says under his breath, smiling when Steve laughs.

“Hey, look.” Steve goes to the far end of the glass case. “That guy’s weird.” Several shelves of bronze statues, their arms raised above them, stare out at him. “What are you, big guy?”

_In the mythology of the Malian people the Dogons, the Nommo is said to be the first creature created by Amma, the sky god and creator of the universe. Upon making Earth its home, the Nommo split itself into four sets of twins and, like Eve eating an apple in Eden, one of the twins rebelled. Amma sacrificed the rest, scattering pieces of their bodies across the world._

_Another theory states that the Nommos were amphibious fish-people hailing from a world orbiting Sirius, commonly known as the dog star, and the brightest star in the sky. The Nommos came to Earth in the midst of a great storm, whereupon they created a body of water and jumped in. They fed the Dogon people with their own flesh and imparted upon them their wisdom and principles. Like Jesus Christ, they were crucified to a tree as one, where they perished, only to be later resurrected and returned to their home planet. The Dogon people believe that Nommo will one day return to them in human form._

_The Nommo is also known as the Master of the Water, the Teacher, and the Monitor of the Universe._

Steve has to reread the plaque three times before he is able to grasp the edges of a memory: the dirty tile floor of Starcourt. The MindFlayer. Billy impaled on its horrible spider leg. Reaching out to Damian by the pier, sitting with Steve in that dark room full of water. Nereids and naiads. In the midst of a great storm.

“Billy,” Steve says, mostly without meaning to. He opens his eyes. Billy must hear something in his voice because he comes over immediately, staring into Steve’s face and then into the glass case. 

Suddenly, Steve doesn’t want to tell him any of it. He can’t stand here and wax poetic about this African fish deity when he knows how Billy curls in on himself to cover the jagged, poorly stitched-up edges of his kill scar. How he wakes up reciting the names of every single person he brought to the MindFlayer, and the four he killed the night he didn’t die. How he doesn’t think he deserves any of Steve or Robin’s attention or interest or _time_.

Steve looks at him and thinks how stupid he feels looking at a fish-man and thinking _wow Billy is Jesus Christ_ , but nothing is simple and, if Steve’s learned anything, it’s that a person isn’t just one thing, one emotion, one long reaction to unhappiness and shit parents. Billy fucked up, frequently and often pretty loudly, at the expense of himself, but mostly at the expense of others. Steve doesn’t know if Billy knew that he was sacrificing himself that night at Starcourt or if he was just too tired of fighting himself.

Billy asked once if he’d ever thought about killing himself, not even as an _option_ , just because, and Steve had said no but now the hair on the back of his neck prickles. He looks at Billy and Billy looks back at him, eyebrow quirked as he tries to read Steve’s expression.

“I used to be really shit,” is all he can think to say. Billy nods slowly, waiting for more, but Steve’s got nothing else.

“So I heard,” he says. “Is there a reason this fish alien is giving you an existential crisis?”

Steve almost says, “I really, really like you and I wish I could fix everything that ever hurt you,” like he’s seventeen again and doesn’t know what it feels like to hurt, what it feels like to put yourself out on a line and be called bullshit. He gets as far as opening his mouth before Max comes bounding up and pushes herself between them to get a look at the status. Billy gives Steve another questioning look, then sticks his tongue out and wraps an arm around Max’s neck to give her a noogie.

xxx

Navy Pier is alive with the bright, multi-colored lights blinking from the Ferris wheel, the bumper cars, and all of the carnival games lining the boardwalk. Steve wonders if Max would be complaining about how she’s not a kid anymore, if things were different. If she couldn’t stand next to Billy and see who’s best at whack-a-mole or who can shoot water into the clown’s mouth the fastest. Her hair is coming out of her braid in loose red wisps and Billy’s eyes are crinkled at the corners. He’s laughing loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

Max lopes over to him with a stuffed flamingo Billy gave her and links her arm through his. Billy is at one of the food booths, tapping his fingers on the counter, his shoulders loose and relaxed.

“I forgot about his limp,” she says. “It’s weird to see him not doing his whole stupid swagger thing. Plus, he hasn’t flirting with, like, a single girl.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, nodding. His stomach twists a little with satisfaction. “Can’t say I miss that.”

“The sweaters.” Her voice is tentative and trailing. “Is it for…?”

“Yeah. He’s always wearing one, even to bed.”

“At least he’s more prepared for the winter than with the stupid shirts he used to wear.” She twists her mouth and shrugs. “Do you think he was always like this? Like, _not_ an assmonkey?”

Steve smiles at her and unlinks their elbows so he can throw an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I think he hid a lot of stuff because of Neil. Like, even his books. I remember he had so many when we lived in California. I saw Neil throwing them into the fire one day after Billy pissed him off. I don’t even remember why. I think -- I mean, I know he was an asshole because he was sad about his mom and whatever, but I think there’s so much about him I don’t know. You know?”

Steve nods. She is fucking perceptive.

“I know we left California because of something he did,” she continues, “but nobody ever told me anything. I don’t know if my mom knows, either. I just know it was really bad, and Neil made me ride with him to Indiana because he didn’t want Billy to run away. Billy got way worse after that. It’s not like he was winning any best brother of the year awards before or anything, but he got _so_ much worse in Hawkins.” She pauses, chewing on her lip. “Now that I’m not, like, thirteen anymore, I think he might have been miserable. Like, in ways other than he very loudly bitched about. I think he was really, really sad.”

 _Oh_. Steve hadn’t thought back to that since he and Billy started hooking up. Maybe he was all of this all along, underneath all sorts of suffering, and he felt all the same ways that Steve did, but Steve took it out with some light verbal bullying and by getting high in his empty house and drinking his dad’s most expensive, shittiest tasting whiskies and trying not to fall down the stairs in his mom’s too-small high heels. Maybe if things were different, he and Billy would have been friends. Maybe they would’ve been whatever they are now.

“I’m really scared Neil’s going to find out,” she whispers. “I’ve never seen him happy before. If Neil finds him, I don’t think he’s ever going to be happy again.”

Steve looks down at her, all of fifteen-and-a-half and five-foot-three and fiery and feisty, and knowing more than Steve has ever known in his twenty-one years of life.

“You’re really smart, Max,” he says. She smiles up at him a little shyly and Billy returns with a box of popcorn and a stick of cotton candy the size of his head.

“Woah,” he says, slowing down as he gets closer to them. Steve realizes that he and Max are both a little teary-eyed. “What’d I miss?”

“We were just talking about how ugly you are,” Max pipes up, and Steve’s heart stalls for a minute, but Billy just cocks an eyebrow, amused. She wipes her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s, like, really hard to look at you sometimes.”

“You guys are hilarious,” Billy deadpans. He passes the popcorn to Steve and the cotton candy to Max. He gives Steve a look and Steve shakes his head a little. He thinks this is best kept between him and Max. “Anyone ever tell you two you should take it on the road?”

He and Max tear into the cotton candy, their mouths turning blue, and Billy carefully puts one piece halfway into his mouth so he can stick the spitty part to Steve’s forehead.

The view from the Ferris wheel is amazing: the city skyline on Steve’s left, Sears and Hancock Towers silhouetted against the twilight sky, and Lake Michigan on his right, stretching out forever and ever, small red lights blinking in the distance. He heard someone in line say you can see the coast of Michigan from the lakefront if the day is clear enough.

He and Billy rock the carriage a bit the higher they get to the top, mostly to hear Max shout, “I’ve fought monsters, you think heights are going to scare me?” and shrieking when they get a particularly good swing going. Steve looks across at Billy and wishes it was just the two of them, just for a second, even though he loves having Max here and loves what it’s brought out in Billy. Billy catches his eye, winks at him, and purses his lips in a kiss, something Steve had seen from him a million times in high school. But this is less mocking and more an acknowledgment that he’s thinking the same thing as Steve.

Steve leaves the two of them at the bumper cars and wanders into the main building to find somewhere to pee. A train pulls in on the tracks and a couple of people, mostly kids his age, get off. Some of the girls wave their fingers and wink at him and it feels weirdly good to know that there’s still something about him that catches peoples’ eye.

The bathroom he finds is near a long hallway full of local merchants selling baked goods and jewelry. He wanders along it after he pisses, looking for something to bring back to Billy and Max. There’s a young girl at the very end with a table full of rotating displays of small gold pendants hung onto thin golden chains. He smiles at the girl behind the table and flicks through them, not really sure what he’s seeing.

“These are really good,” he says.

“Thank you,” she says, blushing. “My, uh, my dad works with construction companies providing some of the steel for smaller jobs, and he showed me how to make stamps, like, stamp molds. I sketch them out on paper, and then I have to invert it and etch it backwards onto the stamp, and once it dries, I stamp them onto this sheet of jeweler’s bronze. It turns a little bit green with time, but that’s just chemical reactions from the air or something. You can clean it with soap and water, though, and there’s a little jewelry, um, rag thing that you can wipe it down with and it gets rid of all the tarnish. You get a rag thing with each necklace.” Her blush gets redder the longer he looks at her. “Sorry, that was a lot of words.”

“Trust me, I am the king of ‘that was a lot of words.’” She smiles at him and Steve wonders why twenty-one is old enough to think seventeen looks so, so young. “So what is it you draw?”

“Oh!” She leans forward so she can set the pendants on her hand for him to see. “I really like Greek mythology, you know, like Zeus and stuff? Here he is, and Athena, and Aphrodite -- you know, the biggies. I have some lesser gods, too. I like to imagine what they would have looked like if they were alive, so whenever I read about them, I sketch it out.” She flips through some of the necklaces and pulls a few pendants into her hand. “Here’s Atlas, the guy with the world on his shoulders, you know? You’ve probably seen him. This is Eos, she’s a goddess of dawn. I think she’s really badass. Persephone, who is also cool. Here’s Nerites, he’s a really hot sea deity. Thetis, she’s the mom of Achilles, and all of the gods, uh, they all wanted to have sex with her.”

Steve smiles a bit and catches Nerites as the necklaces swing back into place. “What did you say this guy’s name was?”

“That’s Nerites, the really hot one. He had fifty sisters and -- sorry, you don’t want to hear his whole backstory.”

“Wait, yeah,” Steve says. “He had fifty sisters, what else?”

She looks up at him a little wide-eyed, like nobody has ever asked her about it before. She smiles and goes on. “In one version of the legend, he and Aphrodite fall in love, and she asks him to go with her when she goes to Olympus. Even when she offers him wings, he says no, and she turns him into a shellfish. That’s why it’s a crab superimposed onto a guy, see how Nerites as a human is fainter than the crab? You can kind of see, there’s Poseidon’s trident back there because in other versions of the story--” She cuts herself off.

Steve glances up at her. “Other versions of the story…?”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times before averting her eyes and saying, “Um, I added that as a nod to -- some versions of the story, you know how this happened in Greek mythology a lot? Um, other stories say that instead of falling in love with Aphrodite, he fell in love with Poseidon, and Poseidon loved him back, and he gave him a chariot to ride on the waves -- you know how Poseidon, he has the chariot that he rides, pulled by the hippocamps? -- and Nerites was really, really fast and all of the sea creatures were so impressed by him. And then he got turned into a shellfish anyway by Helios, who is god of the sun and Eos’ brother -- she’s the goddess of dawn that I like -- and nobody _really_ knows why, but there’s this Roman guy who thinks that maybe Helios loved Nerites and Nerites didn’t love him back because he loved Poseidon, and that made him, like, really angry. That, or Nerites got really cocky and challenged Helios to a race and lost and got turned into a shellfish for thinking he could beat a god at chariot racing.” She puffs out her cheeks. “So… yeah.”

Steve runs his thumb over the etching, wondering how many gods he can compare Billy to in one day. If only his high school English teacher could see him; who can’t draw together parallels _now_ , bitch?

“You said he was hot, right?” Steve says, smiling a bit, imagining the look on Billy’s face when he finds out that Steve thought of him when he heard about a sexy Greek sea god. Probably shirtless just as much as Billy used to be, too. “Like, how hot?”

“Oh,” she says, laughing. “Like, _so_ hot. Hotter than Ganymede _and_ Narcissus and they’re, like. _Really_ hot.”

Steve grins and pulls it off the display. “Awesome, sold. How much do I owe you?”

She looks surprised. “Oh, wow,” she says. “Um, it’s eight dollars.”

“Only eight? You gave me a history lesson too.” He passes her twenty and watches her eyes bug out. She takes the necklace from him and puts it into a small plastic bag for safekeeping.

“What color cleaning rag do you want?” She picks a little box up from under her chair and slides it across the table to him. 

“Nerites would like blue, wouldn’t he?” he asks, wrinkling his nose and holding it up for her opinion. She nods. “Cool, let’s do that.”

“So,” she says quietly as she passes the necklace and rag across to him, “is this for a girlfriend, or…?”

Steve smiles and fiddles with the edges of the jewelry bag. He pokes it under his thumbnail and tries not to think so he can’t talk himself out of whispering, “I don’t think he’d like to be called that.” His heart is pounding like he’d just run a mile, which is -- _stupid_ , god, all he did was sort-of imply to a high school girl he’s _never going to see again_ that he’s buying a necklace for his -- for his --

She blushes again but gives him her widest smile yet. “I hope your Nerites likes it,” she says.

Steve looks down at the bag, tosses it in the air once and catches it. “I think he will.” He winks at her. “See you later, thanks for all that.”

He stops to buy fudge from an old man so elderly that Steve practically has to yell into his ear to get his order across, and it’s only as he’s walking away with what he thinks is a very impressive selection of fudge that it hits him that he just bought -- he just bought _Billy Hargrove jewelry_. Like you do for your girl on her birthday or for the anniversary you forgot about until she kisses you in front of your locker that morning and wishes you happy two weeks, or three months, or whatever. 

What is -- was he just going to walk up to Billy and hand it to him? In front of Max? What was he thinking? Is Billy going to _freak the fuck out_ when Steve gives the necklace to him? What if Steve finds out this was all a ruse, and Billy throws the necklace back in his face and says it was all some sort of long-term practical joke, and what kind of fag likes putting their dick between the asscheeks of another guy and _gets off on it_ , and then he pulls off his face which turns out to be a mask and it’s actually Tommy H. under there, or a demogorgon, or, like, Jimmy Carter?

Robin told him once that he can overthink sometimes if left to his own devices for too long. He thinks this is probably that.

“Get a grip, Harrington,” he says to himself, slapping his cheeks for good measure, and heads back to the bumper cars. He leans against the fence and watches Billy and Max yelling and laughing and ramming their cars into each other as hard as possible, and tries his best to mute out the rising panic that he doesn’t know how to treat a guy like he’s his girl. Or -- boy, or whatever. _Is buying a guy jewelry even okay_?Like, is that _too_ gay?

“Took you long enough,” Billy says when their turn ends. He flicks the blush on Steve’s cheek, still flaming from the small series of anxiety attacks he’s been having. He doesn’t glance down at how hard Steve’s hand is clamped over his back pocket where the necklace is and where it’s probably going to remain until Steve can leave it to Billy in his will, along with a note that says, _I think I probably actually really like you???_ He just needs to make sure Billy doesn’t die first. So far, the odds aren’t in his favor. “Oh, nice, you brought more food.”

The three of them walk to the edge of the boardwalk and sit with their legs hanging off the side of the pier. The sun has set and the city sparkles. Steve eats three pieces of fudge without even tasting it and Billy keeps shooting him weird looks like he just announced he was moving to Colorado to farm donkeys.

“So,” he says. He can’t tell if his voice is way too loud or if it just sounds that way inside his head. “What are you guys gonna do this week?”

“Oh yeah, forgot you’re leaving,” Billy says. He sucks some chocolate off his thumb in that very showy way of his, shifted in Steve’s head now that he knows the reaction Billy’s actually looking to get from him. “Gonna go jerk off in that big, empty mansion of yours now that you don’t have to sleep on a couch?”

“Billy, gross,” Max groans. He shoves her face away with his whole hand.

“I’m going to hang out with Dustin,” Steve says; then, in response to the look on Billy’s face: “During which we are going to do _appropriate activities_ that do not _involve_ any of the perverted things that are going through your head, Hargrove.”

Billy shrugs, the corners of his mouth pulled down sarcastically. “I didn’t say a thing, Harrington.”

“Well,” Max says, nudging an elbow into Billy’s side so she can talk. It’s so weird to see them like this, playful and enjoying each other’s company. He thinks Max probably feels it too. Billy is trying so damn hard to make up for all the time he spent bullying her that Steve’s not even sure his head’s screwed on all the way. “I want to go to the planetarium _obviously_ , mostly so I can rub it in Lucas’ face, and one of the girls in my class is from Chicago and she told me about all these really cool places to go, like, did you know there’s an old water tower that was the _only_ surviving building after the Chicago fire?”

She keeps talking, listing out all of the places she wants to go and all of the food she wants to eat. Billy’s pinky finger finds Steve’s along the wooden slats of the boardwalk and presses there for not long enough.

As they’re headed for the bus, Steve sees the girl from the necklace booth and waves at her.

“Oh!” she calls back, apparently more confident now that she’s not crushing on Steve. She’s holding an Icee the size of her head. “Are you kidding me? _So_ much better than Ganymede _and_ Narcissus. Honestly, perfect choice, bra _vo_.”

“Hell yeah!” Steve yells back, grinning.

“Who’s that?” Max asks.

“You got a jailbait girlfriend, Harrington?” Billy says, lazily draping an arm over Max’s shoulders.

“I mean, sort of,” he says, wondering not for the first time if the feds are going to bust down their front door someday. Billy rolls his eyes. “Nevermind, don’t worry about it.”

“All right,” Billy says. “I guess the princess doesn’t kiss and tell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: NEVER WAKE SOMEONE UP FROM A NIGHTMARE!!!! It can be dangerous for both of you. 
> 
> I waffled back and forth on whether or not I was going to include the Nommo bit or not, but I think it's such a fucking cool mythology that I couldn't help myself. Guys. They're bisexual, androgenous, fish-man ALIENS. What more could you WANT.
> 
> I did such an unnecessary amount of research for this chapter. The Gods, Spirits, and People exhibit was indeed going on at this time, and Navy Pier used to have a train in the middle of it. It also used to be part of UIC. I swear, the mythology in this chapter came together soooo beautifully. I didn't even have to try. I clicked on random Greek deities and found this gay hottie. 
> 
> Also, I know absolutely jack shit about orchestral music, music in general, Greek mythology, Malian mythology, van Gogh, or Chicago in the 1980s. Please don't be fooled and think I am cultured. I'm just a grad student trying to avoid doing my schoolwork.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy laughs, quiet so he doesn’t wake Max, but still warm and full, and Steve almost says, "I think I’m falling in love with you" and it hits him so hard that he knocks the carton of ice cream off the counter. It goes top-down. “Shit,” he says. “Hang on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: vague discussion of porn (brief), attempt to initiate phone sex, Billy's empty grave, Steve purposefully turning Billy on in public, an adult smoking weed and drinking beer with a minor (Steve and Dustin), coming out, dissociative episode (tbh I triggered myself writing it because I was trying to hard to write it accurately lol don't try to remember what it feels like, it's awful), secret relationship exposed, ass-eating, problems with defining the relationship, erectile dysfunction due to PTSD, self-blame, slut-shaming (brief), semi-public sex, relationship problems with God/the Bible/Christianity due to sexuality, cum-eating, Billy is still a lil sexist let's be real, humping to completion, panic attack, jealousy, joke about incest, homophobic language (mostly Billy just referring to himself as a f*g)

Steve and Robin roll into Hawkins around noon the next day. It’s hotter than in Chicago and Robin needles Steve to let her come swim in his pool for a while before he drops her off at home. His parents are out so he goes up to find the joint he stashed away sometime before Starcourt and forgot about in the subsequent mess. It’s been a while since he smoked by the pool.

“Okay, so what even is your type?” Robin asks. She’s laying on his bed wearing one winter glove so she can flip through the _Playboy_ s she found under his mattress.

“Really?” he says. “I don’t go into your room and flip through _your_ skin mags.”

“Good luck trying to find them,” she says, voice mocking. Steve makes a face at her and she sticks her tongue out and crosses her eyes. “Like, all that’s in here is boobs. Boobs. _More boobs_. How did you date Nancy Wheeler if you’re so into boobs? It’s not like Gia was filling out her cups, either.”

“Gonna be honest,” Steve says, crouching down to see if maybe he shoved it underneath the dresser. “I’m not really feeling talking to you about air-brushed tits.”

She exhales loudly, shoves the magazines onto the ground, and rolls onto her back. “You’re no fun. You can’t even find your shitty high school weed.”

“I left the house before coffee. Did you really expect me to bring that shit Eric gets? First of all, I swear to god Dustin’s a bloodhound and would find it immediately and confiscate it for” -- he curls his index fingers into air quotes from the floor -- “ _scientific purposes_ ,’ which means he’s going to wait til his mom goes to visit her sister for the weekend, get really fucked up, stuff his face with a _truly_ impressive amount of KFC mac ‘n cheese, and watch the _Godfather_ on repeat until he falls asleep.”

Robin makes a contemplative face while Steve goes to dig through his closet. “I mean, I can’t say I judge him. I’ve done _way_ weirder things than that. That doesn’t sound like a bad night, you know?” Steve shoves aside a box of old gym clothes, then immediately goes back to pick through for his basketball shorts. When he finds them, he throws them in the general direction of his backpack. “What kind of dudes do you like? Don’t say Billy, that’s really boring.”

“Billy,” Steve says anyway. He’s starting to remember his mom asking him to go through his room sometime after graduation and drop the stuff he didn’t want anymore at the church. He never did, apparently, because his arm is suddenly covered in silver glitter from the astronaut Halloween costume he wore when he was seven. 

“Come on, _spill_. What kind of dick do you like?” Steve can hear her groan even as he suffocates between a bunch of winter coats that don’t fit anymore. “Forget I said that. I don’t want to know. I’m just sweaty and hungry and I want to _smoke your fucking weed_ , goddammit, Steve.”

Steve finally emerges from the closet, picking bits of lint off his tee shirt. “I mean, I can show you,” he says. He curls his hand and makes a few lewd motions. “Hold on, gimme a second and I’ll tell you how long he is. It’s all in the muscle memory.”

She throws a pillow at him. A joint flies out of the pillowcase and he remembers, now. He was going to sneak out and smoke it once his mom went to bed, but then she came into his room and he stuffed it _in_ his pillow apparently, and never took it out because she was in her post-Starcourt hovering phase and insisted on sleeping next to him.

“You,” Steve says, holding it up so she can see it, “are a fucking genius.”

xxx

“So, how is ol’ Ken?” Steve is too busy pushing the omelet around his plate to notice his dad is talking to him. “Son?”

“Huh?” It’s the first thing anyone’s said to him since they got to the country club. His mom isn’t even at their table anymore; she’s sitting with some of her friends on the other side of the dining room drinking vodka on ice or whatever it is she drinks in the morning these days. For the last hour, his dad had been standing next to their table talking to some guy he probably went to Hawkins High with 30 years ago.

“Ken,” his father repeats, voice already tighter with impatience. His mustache bristles threateningly. “How is he?”

“Oh.” Ken is his dad’s college friend and the chair of the business department at UIC. Steve didn’t have the grades or the references to get into UIC, not like Robin, and Steve’s pretty sure Rothschild was the one who called in a favor for his dad. “Yeah, yeah, he’s good. I took his business ethics class in the fall.”

Steve’s dad hums, eyes darting around the dining room until he finds somebody else to talk to. “Saul!” he calls, pushing himself to his feet and heading over. Steve exhales loudly and goes back to pushing the remnants of his breakfast around his plate. He wishes Billy were here. He’d be an absolute jackass, but he’d make Steve laugh and make breakfast and the subsequent round of golf his dad will drag him on for the networking opportunities _that_ much more bearable. He wonders if Billy has ever played golf and files that away for later. There’s got to be mini golf somewhere around Chicago, at the very least in the suburbs. He hates golf, but maybe it would be fun if it was the two of them and Robin and Clara.

“Steve Harrington,” a voice says, “as I live and breathe.”

“Hey!” Steve says, surprised. “Lindy!”

Lindy smiles down at him, her blonde hair half-up in a sort of fountain at the top of her head. She had asked him to prom three days after he met Nancy for the first time or else maybe they would’ve dated. Hooked up at the very least. Lindy was nicer than the type of girls that typically hung around him when he was friends with Tommy and Carol, but she was still _that type._ Nancy was everything he was supposed to hate on principle, and that’s sort of why he chose her, at least at the beginning. He wonders for a second what life would be like if he had chosen Lindy. He wouldn’t be friends with Dustin or Robin. He wouldn’t have been into the Upside Down or fought demogorgons or demodogs and who knows what else. He wouldn’t have Billy.

“Are you home for the summer?” Lindy asks and Steve blinks himself back into the conversation.

“Just visiting for my friend’s birthday. I’m going back up to Chicago in a few days. What about you? Have you always worked here?”

She wrinkles her nose. “No, I’m just waitressing for the summer. I go to Texas A&M. I’m trying to save up for this trip my sorority is taking right to Vail right before Christmas. What are you studying?”

Steve glances over his shoulder to make sure his dad is still wrapped up in conversation before answering. “Social work. It’s new, I haven’t been studying it for long.”

“Do you like it?”

Steve thinks about the classes he picked out for the fall. For the first time in his life, he’s _excited_ about school. Spring semester was him just riding out the rest of the courses he signed up for as a business major, but fall is going to be Childhood Psychology, Sociology I, Intro to Social Work, and Political Theory. He’s _interested_ , and now he actually goes to secondhand bookstores with Billy so he can flip through some of the titles in the social work section. It feels like he’s on the brink of something big. 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I really, really do. I don’t really know which sector I want to get into yet, but I’m still doing my gen eds, so I’m not going to stress about it.”

Lindy tilts her head a little and gives him an appraising look. It gives him butterflies. “Steve, do you have someone waiting for you up in Chicago or do you wanna come over to my house for dinner tomorrow? My parents are going to Indianapolis for a show or something and won’t be back til the next morning.”

“I have plans,” Steve says, mind caught between _no I don’t have a girlfriend_ and _yes I have someone to go home to_. He and Billy aren’t _anything_ , but they’re also not -- they’re not _nothing_ , either. Lindy pouts a little and he says, “And yeah, I, uh, I have someone. In Chicago.”

Lindy nods and reaches over with the coffee pot in her hand to refill his mug. “Doesn’t surprise me, but it was worth a shot. What’s her name?”

“Billy,” Steve says after a slow inhale.

“She’s a lucky girl,” Lindy says wistfully. “She treat you okay, Steve?”

“Yeah. Really good.” There’s a little tick of annoyance in his chest at how often people ask if Billy’s good to him, as if this is Steve’s first relationship and he doesn’t know how to handle it. He has to remind himself that Lindy doesn’t even know Billy’s _Billy_. He’s struck with the sudden _need_ to know if he and Lindy hooked up in high school.

“Well, it was good to see you. I’ll catch you later.” She leans down to kiss his cheek, her mouth sticky with lip gloss, and sashays away. Steve waits for her to go through the swinging kitchen doors before he rubs it off with the back of his hand.

xxx

His dad decides to bring Malcolm Rubenstein to play golf, which means Steve is stuck with only the caddy to talk to or grass to kick at while they loudly relive the good ol’ days. He bolts before his parents can drag him to dinner, choosing to walk the two miles into town instead of risking a ride home with them. He stops at the Burger King by the movie theater, eats it in the park across the street, and is able to bum a ride home from Tommy’s little brother Nick. 

After his shower, Steve dumps the contents of his backpack onto the floor so he can root around for underwear, and out tumbles a brown paper bag.

“What the,” he says out loud. It’s a book; he can feel it through the paper. When he flips it over, Dustin’s name is scrawled across the front. Inside, there’s a generic greeting card showing an array of colorful balloons and the words _HAPPY BIRTHDAY!_ in bright pink font. Steve flips it open. _Wishing you a very HAPPY HAPPY birthday!_ it says. Then, underneath, in the same sloping cursive on the package, is _Billy_.

Steve sits and stares at it, uncomprehending. How did this get in his bag, why is addressed to Dustin, and why is it from Billy? He keeps thumbing at Billy’s name at the bottom of the card as if the ink is going to smudge and he’s going to find out Robin snuck in and hid this in his bag as a prank while he was in the shower.

“Billy bought Dustin a birthday gift,” he says wonderingly. Saying it makes him feel dumb and giddy and he sprawls out onto the floor, still naked, to stare at the ceiling and laugh. “ _Billy_ bought _Dustin_ a _birthday gift_.”

When he slides the book out, he discovers it’s actually two. _Solaris_ is a little shabby, the price sticker from one of the second-hand bookstores near campus still on the front. _The Stand_ is in better condition, but the spine is cracked in wide, white lines. Steve flips through it and sees Billy’s comments written in the margins. Something about it, something about the idea of Dustin getting to see even a fraction of _this_ Billy, makes Steve’s heart pound. 

He feels a lot of things and doesn’t know how to name a single one of them.

He sets his alarm clock for three am, two hours before his dad gets up, and dozes in bed until it goes off. He goes down into the kitchen, stomach full of butterflies, and grabs the carton of coffee ice cream his mom pretends not to like from the freezer. He digs a spoon out of the silverware drawer and hops up onto the counter next to the telephone.

Billy picks up, his voice tired as he says, “Yeah?” even though Steve knows that he’s been sitting in bed reading, knees pulled up to his chest, or at the kitchen table doing the crosswords in the old _Chicago Tribune_ s that he steals from the library. 

“When did you put that into my bag?” Steve asks, mouth full of ice cream. He pushes it around a bit so it only freezes a few teeth at a time.

The stiff, uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line makes him grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“‘When psychologist Kris Kelvin arrives at the planet Solaris to study the ocean that covers its surface,’” Steve reads off the back cover, “‘he finds himself confronting a painful memory embodied in the physical likeness of a past lover.’ Look, I don’t think I can give this to Dustin, man. I might have to read it first.”

Billy makes a noise like a cough, a snort, and a scoff. “Shut up,” he says. “It’s stupid.”

“Stupid,” Steve repeats, waving his spoon around as he talks. “ _Stupid_ \-- Billy, this is -- fucking incredible man, I can’t believe you thought of Dustin and _remembered_ his birthday, and remembered his _name_ , and when did you have the time to put it into my bag? We were together all morning.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Billy says flatly. Steve has to bite the spoon, the metal curve cold against his top lip, to stop himself from smiling even wider.

“That’s really, really cool of you.”

“I don’t even know who Dustin is.”

“Oh, shit, _and_ you remembered he’s a science geek. You pulled out all the stops, man. You even got him a birthday card.”

“I mean, _technically_ , you bought it,” Billy says, voice tight with embarrassment. “Or, I guess, your dad did. I didn’t buy shit for anyone.”

“Shame,” Steve says, “because I was going to fuck myself on the cock of the guy that bought a gift for the dweeb, but if it’s my dad, I might have to put a pin in it. The Harringtons are fucked up enough already without the inbreeding.”

“You absolute fuck,” Billy says.

“Touch yourself,” Steve says quietly. “Put your hand in your pants and rub your dick through your underwear.”

“Fuck,” Billy says, breathless. “You asshole, I’m not jerking off in the kitchen with my little sister sleeping in the next room.”

Steve eats another spoonful, sort of disappointed and also hornier than he intended to get during this call. “Your loss,” he says. “I’ve been told I have a very sexy voice.”

“Who the fuck said that? The asshole casting for Kermit the Frog?”

“Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here,” Steve says from the back of his throat. “I’m here to tell you to finger yourself and pretend it’s me.” Billy laughs, quiet so he doesn’t wake Max, but still warm and full, and Steve almost says _I think I’m falling in love with you_ and it hits him so hard that he knocks the carton of ice cream off the counter. It goes top-down. “Shit,” he says. “Hang on.”

He puts the phone down on the counter and hops off, letting himself sit in a squat for a second so he can wrap his arms around his head and freak out. That’s -- he knows he’s been feeling it, but he didn’t. He _hasn’t_. Every time the words start to creep into his consciousness, he does anything he can to jolt them off track. He has the tendency to go too hard too fast in relationships and he’s been so focused on _not fucking this up_.

He loved Nancy and now he probably loves Billy. He might love Billy like he used to love Nancy. The two feel worlds apart. Nancy made him starry-eyed and young and stupid, and he always had butterflies in his stomach and spent so much time trying to catch his reflection in a mirror or even the glass front of a shop in the sun, because he wanted to look good. Billy makes him starry-eyed and young and stupid, and he always has butterflies in his stomach and doesn’t even care about what his hair looks like because Billy’s just going to push his fingers through it anyway. He doesn’t care how he looks because he doesn’t care how Billy looks. Billy is a low, warm hum in the pit of his stomach. Nancy was quiet fluttering in the broad of his chest.

Sometimes he thinks about the two of them -- just to compare, sort of, to think about the different ways they come together and come apart. The press of his chest against Billy’s sometimes catches him off guard for some reason, even now. How Billy doesn’t make a soft noise when Steve passes the pad of his thumb over a nipple. Angles can be a little more complicated. Steve can kiss Billy and finger him at the same time, but his arm cramps sometimes because he’s almost as tall as Steve, and thick. Muscled. Steve liked that Nancy got wet, but he also likes the slick of precum, likes watching it bead up on the tip of Billy’s dick, likes that Billy leaks more than he does.

He breathes in and out a few times before he’s able to refocus. When he flips the carton right side up, most of it stays in, but some slides out onto the floor in a gross, melty puddle. It’s going to be sticky in the morning. Steve throws a couple wads of paper towel on top of it and does what he can to wipe it up.

“Sorry,” he says to Billy after he’s thrown away the paper towels and shoved the ice cream back into the freezer. Billy makes a sound that’s swallowed up by a yawn. “You should go to sleep.”

“Nah.” He yawns again.

“You can dream of all the things I’m going to do to you when I get back in” -- Steve checks his watch -- “seventy hours.”

“Ninety-six,” Billy says. “But who’s counting?”

xxx

He goes to the graveyard in the morning and sits on Billy’s empty grave, pulling out the grass and trying to whistle with the broader blades. The headstone is simple and boring -- just _William Neil Hargrove_ and, underneath it, _1967-1985_. No bullshit _dearly beloved son_ or anything. The chance of Billy having come by to see the grave is slim enough that he grabbed his Polaroid before leaving the house, and he’s glad he did, because somebody clearly maintains it. The headstone is unpolished, and he can see a ton of faded red lipstick prints that have clung on hard enough to not be washed away by the rain. There are flowers at the base of the headstone, a plastic wreath in the shape of a heart leaning against it, and a pink teddy bear with a heart on its stomach sitting on top. He laughs and takes a bunch of pictures and tries to not to simmer in anger over what Hawkins did to Billy.

Dustin meets him outside of Juke’s later that day and makes way too big a deal out of the way he cruises up in his mom’s station wagon. He lowers his sunglasses and does a big, exaggerated wink, which ruins his already not-cool vibe, and then he falls out of the car trying to be smooth. He tops it off by flinging himself at Steve.

“It’s so good to have you back!” he says. It’s only been two months since they’d last seen each other, but Dustin looks older. He needs a _shave_ and smells like shitty cologne. Steve missed the fuck out of this kid.

“Aw, c’mere.” Steve can’t give him a hard time, not with a face that goofy and happy to see him, so he draws his invisible lightsaber and they battle it out right in front of the restaurant. Carol is sitting in the window with some of her friends and is clearly talking shit about him, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “Come on, we’re going to the quarry.”

Everyone who frequents the quarry is either working or not stupid enough to smoke and drink with an underage kid in broad daylight, which makes it the perfect spot to go. They sit in the car for a while, McDonald’s fries and nuggets sitting on the seat between them and joint passing back and forth, and catch up. Dustin tells him how he’s really finding his footing in high school and Steve tells him how much he really, really thinks he can see himself doing social work. 

As it gets later, they move to sit against the front of the car so they can listen to the crickets and balance their beers in the gravel. They try to sing _Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now_ at different pitches and in different voices until their throats go raw. 

“Ah, shit,” Steve says quietly, much later. He wasn’t going to do this. He hasn’t even said it out _loud_ yet. But after the phone call with Billy, things feel much more pressing, and if there’s anyone who’s still going to think he hung the moon, it’s Dustin. He hopes. “Look, man, I’m just gonna say it. I’m bi.”

Steve doesn’t want to see the look on his face, but when Dustin doesn’t answer, he shifts his eyes over to see him staring crestfallen into the quarry.

“You’re leaving already?” he says. “You just got here.”

“What?” Steve sits up so he can look down at Dustin in disbelief. “I’m fucking _bisexual_ , dumbass.”

Dustin’s face lights up. Steve keeps looking at him, waiting for some sort of reaction or acknowledgement or _something_. Good lord, maybe he isn’t the dumbest one around here after all.

“Bye-sexual,” Dustin says thoughtfully. “I’m just, like… what _is_ a bye? Is it like, you get off on people abandoning you? Is it a kink thing?”

“Oh, Christ.” Steve throws himself back onto the gravel. “I like girls _and_ guys, fathead. _Bi._ I know I’m an idiot, but I’m pretty sure that means two.”

He holds his hands over his face and listens to Dustin mutter to himself. 

“ _Oh_. Why didn’t you just say it’s the _Latin root_. Homonyms, I tell ya.” Steve makes a pissed-off noise at him. Dustin’s voice comes out softer. “All right, man.”

Steve lowers his hands and turns on his side to face Dustin. He can’t look at him yet, though. He stares at the scuffed denim on Dustin’s knee. “Really? That’s it?”

Dustin rolls onto his left side, holding his head up with an elbow digging painfully into the gravel. “Hold up. You really thought I’d have an issue with it?”

“I don’t know, man.” Steve’s eyes catch Dustin’s face now and he feels so much _relief_ all of a sudden. He didn’t even know this was something that was stressing him out. Telling Dustin about Billy -- sure. That’s a given. He still doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do about that. But _coming out_. “People around here aren’t, like, the most accepting of that kind of stuff.”

Dustin shrugs. “I am,” he says. “We are. The party, I mean. _Wait._ Does this mean I can hook you up with my gay friends now?”

“ _What_?” Steve half-recoils away from Dustin’s smiling face. “First of all, _no_. Second of all, _fuck_ no. Do you even _have_ gay friends?”

“Of course I do,” Dustin says scoffing. “There’s Will. And…” His eyes dart around as he desperately tries to think of someone else. “ _You_.”

“You’re going to set me up with me.”

“Uh, aren’t you the perfect person for yourself? Think about it, Steve. You know _everything_ you want.”

Steve groans into his hands. “Tell me that again in, like, three years, buddy.” They fall into a companionable silence for a while. “Wait, so how did you think me saying _I’m bi_ was me telling you I’m leaving? That’s not even -- that’s _so stupid_.”

“I don’t know!” Dustin yells, petulant but grinning. “Sometimes my mom forgets words when she’s stressed out.”

“You thought I forgot the word _leaving_?”

“You’ve had a couple of beers.”

“I’ve had like one and a half!”

“Um, a couple is _two_. You should know this, bi-guy.”

Steve rolls his eyes, then startles when Dustin practically jumps out of his skin.

“Max!” he says suddenly and triumphantly. He rolls himself up so he can take another drink. “Lucas told me Max told _him_ that she had a sex dream about Marcie McKell. Apparently, Max started asking Lucas all these questions about what he would think about her with a girl and Lucas had, like, an absolute meltdown.”

Steve huffs out a laugh and stays flat on his back for a little while longer, just soaking in the relief. Soaking in the joy at how he can _be himself_ around Dustin, entirely, except --

“I mean, as long as it’s not Billy Hargrove, we’ll love whoever your boyfriend is.” He tips his head back to finish off his bottle and chucks it towards the quarry. It hits a tree and bounces off into a bush. He misses the look on Steve’s face -- _Steve_ misses the look on Steve’s face, because there are so many things happening inside him at once. “I mean, not like he’d like guys, anyway. I think he had sex with my mom?”

“Billy--”

“ _\--has changed_ ,” Dustin interrupts. “Yeah, I know. So you’ve told me, like, a million times.”

“What’s your deal with him?” Steve asks, sitting up. He bites his tongue, trying to remind himself not to get so defensive. “Why can’t you just give him a chance? He’s Max’s brother. He’s _my_ \-- he’s friends with me and Robin. Get _over_ it, man.”

Dustin gives him a look like he’s the dumbest person on Earth. _“Get o--_ ” He makes some aggressive stuttering noises at him for a minute and Steve _almost_ tells him, almost says that nobody’s ever taken care of him the way Billy has, that Billy _gets_ it when he has nightmares, that Billy _bought Dustin a gift_ because Dustin is Steve’s friend. Almost says that he might be in love with him. But if Dustin knows, Max knows, and if Max knows, it’s going to get back to Billy somehow. It’s not fair to tell their secret -- _their_ secret, and in a town where he has a headstone in the graveyard and where his dad still lives, quietly pretending like Billy never existed. Hot rage licks up inside him.

When he tunes back in, Dustin has gotten sidetracked by a story about Max and Lucas. Steve tries to let his sadness go and burrow back into that bright joy of acceptance.

xxx

“Dustin loved the gift,” Steve says. It’s 9pm -- riskier, but Steve can hear the shower running in the background of the apartment. His parents are out, so everything’s quiet on his end. Billy called _him_.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, voice smooth and warm, and Steve wishes he was there to feel it. After a beat, he adds, voice quiet and unsure, “Did he really?”

“I mean,” Steve says and Billy laughs, loud and beautiful.

“You can tell me what kind of shit he said.” Steve can hear his smile. “I promise you, I can handle whatever insults a ten-year-old can throw at me.”

“Uhgh,” Steve says. “He was really suspicious, but he seemed interested in them. He kept asking _why_ and when I pointed out that you annotated one of them, he gave me this look of -- like, he didn’t believe me, you know? He got all slack-jawed, and said, ‘I didn’t know that fucker knew how to read’.”

“Fuckin’ birdbrain,” he says, still smiling.

“You sound good,” Steve says. “Happy, I mean.”

“Could be better. Could have you here.”

“Just one more day.”

xxx

Dustin insists on calling it the rendezvous spot. Steve keeps telling him to shove it.

In reality, it’s an empty storefront on the outskirts of town where nobody _really_ goes unless they have a farm out that way. It’s been sitting there empty as long as Steve can remember. He wonders now if it’s always been where people go to do illicit things.

He parks around back, so nobody can see the beemer from the road, and sits there for a bit, waiting for any sign of life. The kids are a half-mile west in Dustin’s mom’s station wagon, waiting for Steve’s signal. He feels so stupid with the Walkie Talkie strapped to his belt, but he agreed to wear it _so long as_ Lucas was the only one who used it. Dustin had pouted and Lucas kept rubbing it in his face, voice high and obnoxious, and Steve marveled at the fact that they’ve aged at all.

Steve takes a deep breath and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He doesn’t really want to leave his car alone in case the guy grabs it and splits, but he also doesn’t want to sit here for an hour and a half and leave the guy thinking he bailed.

Rolling his eyes, he presses the button Dustin told him to press and says, “All right, I’m going in.”

“Be safe, Steve,” Lucas says. He can hear Dustin yelling about Walkie Talkie etiquette in the background before Lucas clicks off and his voice disappears. Steve turns the sound down so low it’s almost off.

Steve reaches across to pull the little baggie with Billy’s necklace in it out of the glovebox. Selfishly, he wishes Billy was here. He’s not particularly nervous about meeting some government goon, but it would still be nice to have someone on his six. Billy doesn’t even know they’re here, though, or else he’d blow a gasket that Steve’s by himself. He just needs to say in Chicago where it’s safe and focus on having fun with Max. He deserves it.

Steve breathes in, rubs a thumb over the image of Nerites, and puts the baggie back into the glovebox.

Jonathan had been the one who called with the information about the meeting place and the messenger fee the guy wanted in return. Steve took double that out of his savings on a hunch.

The back door is open, just like promised, and Steve holds his breath as he walks down the hall. His Converse keep squeaking and he stops to take them off, but the doorway he leans against is the door that has _COLLECTIONS_ written across it in Sharpie, which means it’s where he needs to be, so he inhales through his nose and turns the knob.

The guy -- Fed? Agent? Criminal? Fuck if Steve knows -- looks up from where he’s sitting on a big, dusty chair behind a big, dusty desk. Steve tries not to cough when the door opening kicks up some dust near him.

“You must be Harrington,” the guy says. He stands and comes around the desk. He’s got to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He has a broad, bushy mustache that covers most of his face and is a solid three inches shorter than Steve, at least. “José Luis García. Call me Lui.”

He shakes Steve’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” Steve says, a little caught off guard. He’d been expecting someone… scarier looking, maybe. Gun-toting. Taller. Not someone who looks like Steve’s grandpa if Steve’s grandpa was Mexican. He knows better than to judge on looks, though; _now_ he does, at least.

“Come, come,” Lui says, waving him in towards the desk. Steve sits in one of the chairs across from Lui, who is digging in a satchel at his feet. It makes Steve nervous. “Aha, I knew I had it, _cabroncito_.” He sets a thin manila envelope between them. “This won’t take very long,” Lui says cheerfully. Steve’s eyes dart around the room, looking for some sort of clue of what he’s just walked into.

“Hot date?” he manages. Lui laughs. 

“Just with my Mirabella,” he says, wiggling his left hand to show Steve his wedding ring. “I live in Nevada, _mijo_ , I need to get home before dinner!”

Steve smiles back at him and relaxes a little. He presses his fingers against the Walkie Talkie five times in short succession, just like Dustin had told him to. Well, just like Lucas translated to him, once the two of them got sick of Dustin trying to describe the intricacies of Morse code.

“We’ll go through these papers, I’ll take my fees, and we will part ways.” He smiles like he’s trying to put Steve at ease, which makes Steve feel less at ease. He watches Lui pull some papers out from the manila folder and stand so he can set them in front of Steve one-by-one. “Birth certificate -- please notice we changed the birth year. People who are twenty-one or twenty-two are more likely to get a manager called to verify an ID, so we have his birth date as January 26, 1964, making him twenty-three. Social security card, high school diploma and academic records, passport, voting registration, library card, and a credit card which has been building credit for the past four years. Here is also a copy of the medical records we put into the system at Chicago hospitals. You are listed as his next of kin. Did I miss anything?”

Steve stares down at all of the papers and cards scattered in front of him. _He_ doesn’t even have half this shit. His mom keeps all of their paperwork in a safety deposit box at the bank. “Wow,” he says finally, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, sounds good to me.” 

“Oh, of course.” Lui points at the name listed on the birth certificate. _William Richard Johnson_ , it says, even though it’s a picture of Billy staring up at him from the driver’s license. He’s even a heart donor. “A nice, respectable name. Doesn’t draw too much attention. If he insists on using Hargrove, it’s his mother’s maiden name.”

“Wow,” Steve says again. Lui beams at him and begins to collect everything to stuff back into the manila envelope. “Thank you. All of you. You guys really can do anything, can’t you?”

Lui smiles and shrugs. He clips the top of the manila envelope. “That’s five hundred for the messenger fee.”

Steve digs in his pocket; he already has it counted and ready to go. He tosses the wad of twenties onto the desk and Lui hands over the envelope so he can count the bills. Steve wants to make a comment about how suspiciously cheap this is, but he knows that Joyce called in a favor with Hopper’s government buddy to get this done on the house. He has no idea how much he would have had to shell out if it wasn’t for that. Still, for being government officials, they like to do things in the sketchiest way possible.

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Steve shakes his hand and is halfway to the door when he has an idea.

“Lui,” he says, turning on his heel. Lui looks up from where he’s tucking the money into the inside pocket of his satchel for safekeeping. “You guys _can_ do everything, right? For another five, could you get something done for me?”

xxx

The phone rings just as Steve’s out the door, heading to breakfast with Dustin. He’s a sucker and likes his odds, so he backtracks.

“Harrington,” he says into the receiver, unable to stop from smiling, even though he _knows_ it’s stupid. It could be a telemarketer for all he knows.

“Hi, it’s Max.” Steve stands up a little straighter from where he’d been slouched against the countertop. “This is Steve, right? Or Mr. Harrington?”

“It’s Steve,” he says, trying not to sound too worried. But _why is Max calling him and not Billy_.

“Hi,” she says again, then pauses like she’s trying to decide whether or not to say something.

“What’s up, Max?”

“Billy’s acting kind of weird?” she says uncertainly. “I mean, weird compared to the last few days. Okay, I mean _weird_ weird.”

“Uhhh,” Steve says, just so he doesn’t sound too eager for answers. The couple of seconds between her words and his question are precious when it comes to maintaining the status of being cool around the kids. “What do you mean weird?”

“He’s, like.” There’s some shuffling on the other end of the phone. “Okay, like, he’s calling me _Max_ , which is _weird_ , but not like -- I just wish he would call me Maxine, _God_ , I never thought I’d say that.”

“That’s what’s weird?”

“No. I mean, yeah, but he’s like -- he wouldn’t get up this morning and has been in the bathroom for, like, a _really_ long time. The shower isn’t on and he stopped answering me when I knock. I don’t know what he’s doing in there.”

“Has he eaten anything?”

“No. He wouldn’t drink water, either. It was like he couldn’t hear me. I don’t know what to do and--” she hiccups and Steve realizes that she’s starting to cry “--I’m _scared_ , Steve. Is he okay? Does he need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” he says. He moves through everything quickly in his head. “Look, Robin and I are gonna head home early. I need to grab her and say bye to Dustin. If you can, get him to the couch to watch a movie. If you can’t, let him lay in his bed. You don’t need to worry about him, Max. He’s okay. This -- it happens sometimes.”

It used to happen to Steve, too, after the first time he fought the Upside Down, half-crying in the Byers’ living room. Keeping his mind occupied was the only way to stop it from coming on. He never quite figured out how to get out of it, though, other than waiting for his limbs to stop feeling like they were full of cement and for noises to stop being so distant.

“Are you sure?” she asks quietly. “Like, is it even okay to leave him alone?”

“Yeah.” Steve is pretty damn sure that, no matter how much shit he says about himself, Billy wouldn’t do himself in. This usually went away within two or three days. Sometimes more if things have been really bad. “Find something easy for him to eat. Like, nothing that requires a lot of chewing. Nothing with a ton of flavor. Toast? Give him some plain toast and tell him I told him he has to eat it.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“I’ll be home soon and I’ll kick his ass.”

Max lets out a shaky breath. “Okay. Thanks, Steve.”

“Of course. Anytime. We’ll see you soon.”

He grabs the phonebook from underneath the counter and looks up the Buckleys. This is so old, _shit_ , it still has Dick Adler and he moved away, like, eight years ago.

“Yello,” Mr. Buckley says, his slow, booming voice loud over the phone.

“Mr. Buckley, hi. This is Steve. Harrington. Steve Harrington.”

“Steve! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Can you -- one of our friends _really_ needs us, so I’m going to pick Robin up early.”

“How early?”

“Like…” Steve looks at his watch. “Thirty minutes?”

Mr. Buckley whistles through his teeth. “I’ll try to wake the monster, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Tell her Max needs help,” Steve says. She likes Billy, but she _definitely_ has a sore spot for Max. Maybe it’s the red hair or maybe Max is her lesbian protegee.

“Well, all right,” he says. “Say hello to your moms and pops, would ya? Haven’t seen them much in a while.”

“Yes, sir,” he says. “They’ve been traveling.”

Mr. Buckley hums. “All right, well, we’ll see you soon. Don’t think for a _second_ Genevieve is going to let you leave without snacks for the road.”

Steve laughs, trying to keep how much he wants to race home under control. He knows how to handle Billy’s mood swings. _He_ can fix them. Billy is going to be absolutely mortified when he shifts out of this. He’s going to think he fucked up his chance with Max and Steve’s heart is going to _shatter_.

When they hang up, Steve shoves the phonebook back in the cabinet and dials Dustin’s number.

“Henderson residence,” Dustin says, which is weird, because he never picks up the phone.

“Hey, man, it’s Steve. Look, I need to bail on you.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Dustin says, disappointed.

“ _I know,_ I know, I’m sorry. Max just called. Billy’s really sick and she needs us there.”

There’s a sudden intake of breath and Steve doesn’t know what part of what he just said caused it.

“What kind of sick?” _Of course_. “Like, Upside Down sick? Is it from the possession? Don’t worry, my mom isn’t here, so be as detailed as possible.”

“Uhh,” Steve says. “It’s like--” He shuffles his feet and doesn’t know why he’s so uncomfortable talking about it, even now, even after the school psychiatrist diagnosed him with it his senior year. He lowers his voice. “He’s got depression, man.”

“Oh.” Dustin sounds disappointed. “Well, it’s a chemical imbalance of the brain, right? There’s probably not much you can do.”

Steve almost rips some of his hair out. He wants to fight with Dustin, _why are you so caught up with what he did_ , but that’s a longer conversation that’s not going to get resolved today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. “I don’t know. Friends make you happy.”

Dustin huffs out a sigh because he can’t argue with that. Steve can tell Dustin wants to give him shit about bailing on him for Billy, but, miraculously, he holds his tongue. “Okay, well, call me when you get home, so I know he didn’t go on a psycho rampage and kill you and Max.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Sorry again. I’ll see you again soon.”

He shakes off the prickliness of agitation and legs it up the stairs to his bedroom, where he stuffs his things back into his bag, then immediately unpacks them again to change his shirt and sweatpants for what look like the exact same shirt and sweatpants. They’re cleaner, though, according to the sniff test.

When he thinks he has everything, he swings his backpack over his shoulders and runs across the hall to dig through his mom’s toiletries. There’s a basket of essential oils and scented soaps and fizzy bars that turn into a bubble bath. He picks at random, shoves them in his pockets, and drops his keys four times trying to get into his car.

“Woah,” Robin says when she sees him. Mr. and Mrs. Buckley wave from the porch. “God, they’re so embarrassing. Anyway, like I was saying, _woah_. You look like shit.”

“Billy’s in one of those…” He waves one of his hands around as he circles the cul-de-sac and turns back out onto the main road. “You know, when he gets, like, all heavy and he won’t move or talk.”

“Depersonalization,” she says, mouth already full of one of the eight PB&Js Mrs. Buckley packed them for their _two-and-a-half-hour drive_. “Or derealization, I can’t ever remember which is which. My dad said something about Max.”

“Yeah, she called me. It’s really freaking her out.”

Robin nods. “Yeah, I can see that. It’s not, you know, a bunch of fun to see or anything.”

“Sorry to get you moving so early,” he says, sliding on his sunglasses. “I don’t know if you had plans today or what.”

Robin shrugs. “It’s whatever. You’re not the only one who’s friends with Billy, you know. I know he’ll do better with us there. _Hey_.” She puts a hand on his arm and he looks over at her as they stall at a stop sign. “He’s gonna be okay.”

“I know that,” Steve says, turning his attention back to the road. When he rolls his shoulders, though, he notices just how tense they are. “He gets like this sometimes. I know. We’ll be there soon.”

xxx

Billy is sitting on the couch with Max when they get home. Max jumps up immediately and runs to them, her eyes wide.

“He ate the toast,” she says, watching Steve drop his backpack. “He drank some water, too, but he’s still like that.”

Steve sits down next to him and touches his arm lightly before wrapping a hand around his wrist. He knows from experience how delayed reactions can be. It’s not until he speaks that Billy’s wrist twitches. “Hey, Billy. It’s Steve.”

“Why are you home?” Billy asks slowly. He looks over at Steve, then his eyes flicker up to where Max and Robin are hovering.

“Why don’t we leave you guys to catch up,” Robin says. “Max, do you want to grab some ice cream?”

When they leave, Steve reaches up to card a hand through Billy’s hair. Billy leans into it.

“Not sleeping well?”

Billy grunts, which he takes as a yes. “Not so easy alone now.”

“Well, I’m home now. It’s all right. Do you want to get in the bath?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says. “I fucking hate this.”

“I know,” Steve says. “But it’s all right, it’ll pass.”

Billy keeps looking at him, eyes a little glassy like he’s somewhere else entirely.

Steve sits with him for about twenty minutes, then gets him up and into bed so he has some privacy when Max and Robin get back. Steve locks the door and lays behind him, remembering only when he lays on his side that his pockets are full. He dumps everything out onto the ground and presses close to Billy.

Steve must fall asleep, because he blinks and Billy’s flipped around, turned toward him. His hand is resting on Steve’s hip.

“Hi,” Steve says.

“Welcome home,” Billy says, mouth still a little clumsy. “I told her not to call you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you broke a nail or something. I’m here for you, all right?”

Billy’s brow creases. “Nightmare,” he says. “It was really bad. Maybe the worst one. I woke up and just laid here, and I couldn’t yell, and I couldn’t move, and by the time I could…”

Steve touches him: his wrist, his shoulder, his cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Billy’s blink seems to last a lifetime. “I’m a big boy, Harrington.”

Steve chances it. “You don’t gotta tell me,” he says with a little smile and a barely-there shift of his hips. It must hit well, because Billy smiles and falls onto his back. “You gotta eat something.”

“Mmm,” Billy says. “Kiss me first?”

“I really do everything around here, don’t I?” Steve says, pressing his smile against Billy’s. They kiss slow and shallow and sleepy.

“You have a promise to keep,” Billy says, his eyebrows twitching up as Steve pulls away.

“With your kid sister here,” Steve says. “ _Really_ gets me going.”

He manages to drag Billy out of bed and get him to the kitchen table. Max and Robin come in from the living room and sit with him while Steve digs through the cabinets for the box of Pop-Tarts he swears was here before he left.

“Sorry, Max,” Billy says quietly. He won’t look at her.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” She gets up from her chair and goes around the table to slowly, slowly, lean against him in a hug. His arm comes up and around her waist and they stay like that for a long while.

xxx

Two days after Steve gets back, Dustin calls.

“You never told me you didn’t get _murdered_ ,” Dustin says angrily when Steve picks up.

“Hi, Dustin, Steve sighs. “I’m doing fine, thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t ask,” Dustin says, “because you _didn’t want to tell me_.”

“Okay, Max is back in Hawkins. How would she have gotten there if she witnessed me get murdered? Are you calling her an accomplice?”

Dustin grumbles a bit and Steve pokes at it a little more, which is fun for a while.

“Is Billy there?” Dustin asks when he lets up. Steve looks over his shoulder towards the bathroom, as if he can see Billy through the wall.

“Yeah, he just got back from basketball. He’s in the shower.”

“Then I have a BONE to pick, _Harrington_.”

“Oh, Christ,” Steve sighs. He pulls one of the kitchen chairs over, already knowing this is going to be a Conversation. “All right, lay it on me.”

“Out of _everyone in the world_ ,” Dustin says loudly. “And I mean _everyone!_ Why the _hell_ didn’t you tell me you’re dating _him_?”

Steve’s heart stops for a minute. “What?” he manages.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dustin says, sounding way too much like his mom. “I got _eyes_ on the _inside_ , Harrington. I know it’s true.”

Steve looks over his shoulder and scans the ceiling. “Did you fucking bug my apartment?” He wouldn’t put it past the kid, even knowing Dustin has no real way of getting up to Chicago or into Steve’s place. He’s freaky enough that he’d find a way.

“Oh, Steve,” Dustin says in the most dramatic, condescending tone he can muster. “My sweet, loyal, naive friend. There are much more effective ways of gathering intel than--”

“ _Henderson_.”

“Okay, fine. Max told me.”

Fuck. _Fuck_. He runs a hand through his hair and tugs on it. Billy is going to _lose it_.

“And here I thought, wow, my friend Steve _really_ trusts me! He’s telling me about how he doesn’t care _who_ he has sex with, as long as he’s having sex.”

“I didn’t say that,” Steve sighs, dropping his head into one hand.

“ _Why would you leave that part out, Steve_?” he hisses.

“You hate him,” Steve says, his voice tight and defensive. He hates it, hates fighting, hates fighting with Dustin most of all. “All of you, you just talk about all the shit he used to do. No _way_ was I going to tell you guys about it. He makes me _happy_ , man. He, like – he makes me _really_ happy. Of course I wanted to tell you. You just -- you just don’t talk about that stuff, you know? Not _you_ you, _everybody_ you. Guys don’t talk about liking other guys. It’s fucking weird.”

“I have so many questions,” Dustin says tiredly, “but I don’t know if I want to know the answers to _any_ of them.”

“I don’t even know if I have the answers in the first place. I’m still trying to figure it out. Look, it’s -- it hasn’t been going on for that long. You know how when you’re dating someone, you wait to see if it’s serious before you tell your friends?”

“No,” Dustin says immediately, and _of course he doesn’t_. Steve knows from first-hand experience that Dustin wants to tell everyone if a girl even _looks_ at him. There’s no way he doesn’t think making out means you’re boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Plus, we’re not even, like, _dating_ ,” Steve says. It feels like they are, but calling each other _boyfriend_ is for other people. Right? They don’t need that word between just the two of them. He talks himself in and out of being sad about it on an almost daily basis. “Not really, I mean.”

“UGHH,” Dustin groans, annoyingly loud and dramatic. “From what Max said, it sounds like you guys are pretty serious.”

“What did she even _say_?”

“She said Billy talked about you, like, nonstop the whole time you were gone, and _before_ you left, you were all over each other.”

“Okay, we definitely were not all over each other,” Steve says, going red. For some reason, he _needs_ that on the record.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“It’s whatever,” Steve says. He pulls the phone away from his ear to check that the shower is still running. “We’re just. I don’t know, fooling around or whatever. He makes me happy. Does it really matter?”

“Steve Harrington? Fooling around? It’s _whatever_?” Dustin sighs. “Since I met you, there’s never been a _whatever_ with you, Steve.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Steve says, taken off guard. 

“I’m just saying. You always give everything you have.”

That’s too deep for right now. “Hey, man, Billy’s out of the shower,” he lies. “Talk later.”

“All right. Hey, Steve?”

Steve pauses. “Huh?”

“I love you,” Dustin says, so genuinely that Steve _feels_ it. This creep ass little kid who’s not so little anymore, accepting him even when Steve is breaking the cardinal rule he set for dating guys. “I wish you would’ve told me, but I guess I understand. I _guess._ I’m here if you ever want to talk about it. Except, like, what the sex is like. _That’s_ not something I ever want to even think about.”

Steve laughs and hears the shower turn off for real. “I love you too,” he says. “I’m bye.” Dustin laughs.

Billy kisses his neck and ear when he comes into the kitchen, dripping water onto Steve’s shirt. Steve turns to kiss him on the mouth, but he ducks out of reach, winking, knowing exactly how much it annoys Steve. He’s still in his towel and his hair, getting longer by the day, is slicked back. His chin tilted up and his hooded eyes bring Steve right back to the Hawkins High locker room showers. Except _this time_ , he’s going to follow through.

“You open for business?” Billy asks, sounding every bit like the asshole he used to be. “Can I collect on that IOU?”

That steals Steve’s breath right out of his chest. “I -- yeah. Right now? _Yeah_.”

He goes into the bathroom to wash up, but mostly to freak out. _Shit_ _shit shit_. What if he fucks this up. What if Steve loves every second of it and he looks down to see Billy wrinkling his nose. Holding up the fucking _you suck_ board. Zero out of ten.

When he pulls his pants back up, he bumps the necklace. He forgot it was in his back pocket again. He takes it out and looks at it for a long time.

Billy is laying back on the bed, splayed out and languid, the blanket strategically draped. Steve is so lucky that he gets to see Billy like this: unashamed and unselfconscious. His scars out on full display. Steve doesn’t even notice them anymore, except in those moments when he’s struck by how much Billy is coming into himself. He’s becoming _someone_.

“Damn,” he says, mostly without meaning to. He closes the bedroom door behind him and leans against it for a minute, just looking. Billy’s started getting back some of the muscle in his calves. He looks healthy and sexy and _strong_ , nothing like he was when Steve and Robin gave him a bath all those months ago.

“Show ain’t free,” Billy says, mouth quirking up. Steve climbs onto the bed, onto Billy; melts into him and the feeling of being held. Billy holds him around the waist with one arm and against his chin with the other. His hair is damp and a little frizzy from the shower and Steve knows he’s making it worse by running his fingers through it, but he can’t help himself. “Why are your clothes still on?” Billy says against his mouth. Steve rolls off of him and struggles out of his shirt and belt. He arches his hips to get the jeans down over his ass and hears the necklace fall out of his pocket before he sees it. By the time his jeans are around his ankles, he’s looking at Billy inspecting the bag and thinking very desperately about saying it’s for Robin, or Max, or _literally_ anybody in the world.

“Uhh,” he says, and then can’t think of anything more to say. Unfortunately, that gets Billy more interested. He raises an eyebrow and pours it out into his hand.

“What could you be hiding, pretty boy?” Steve just lays there, jeans still tangled in his feet, and watches Billy swipe his thumb over the shell and the trident. If Steve stares at the necklace instead of at Billy, maybe he can get some semblance of a sentence out of his mouth.

“That’s Nerites,” Steve says. “He, uh. He was one of those, those -- ocean nymphs. Or whatever.”

Billy’s head tilts to the side a little bit. “He rode a chariot,” he says quietly. His eyes flick up to meet Steve’s and Steve can’t deny him that, even as he’s overflowing with embarrassment. He doesn’t even know _why_. “He was with--”

“--Poseidon. Yeah.” 

Billy nods a little and looks back down. “Where’d you get this?”

“There was a girl selling them at Navy Pier.”

Billy’s eyes flick back and forth like he’s thinking and then his face lights up. “Your jailbait girlfriend! Oh, shit. Ganymede and Narcissus. Holy shit, Harrington, am I your Nerites?” He starts laughing, all teeth, and pulls the chain up and over his head, then cranes his neck to see how it lays against his chest. “I don’t know what I like more about it, the fact that you saw the hot, gay sea guy and thought of _me_ or that it implies that _you_ think you’re Poseidon.”

“I asked her how hot Nerites was,” Steve says finally, blushing hard, “and she told me, like, the fucking _hottest_. Your necklace and your tattoo are all -- yeah, I thought you’d like it. Hoped, I guess.”

Billy’s eyes are bright as he swings a leg over Steve to straddle him and even though Steve _knew_ he was naked, touched his naked skin while they were making out, having Billy sitting on top of him naked does something else to him entirely.

“I’m gonna fuck your ass, Princess,” he says, still with his big, smug smile. “You can ride me another time, all right?”

“Yes,” Steve says without even thinking about it. “Yes. _Yes._ Please.”

This -- _this_ Steve can do, much better than he can figure out what to say to Billy. He can rub up against him, make noises meant to go right down Billy’s spine. Arch and jerk when Billy’s fingers press into him, stretch him out. Steve thinks he’s going to come about a billion different times by the time Billy gets up to three, but Billy edges like he wants Steve to _die_ so he never quite gets there.

“Fuck,” he shouts after what feels like hours. “Fuck, Billy, _come on_.”

“Patience,” Billy says, aiming for teasing and falling a little flat. Steve goes up on his elbows to look down at Billy and Billy just slides back on the bed a bit, goes down on his stomach, and puts his mouth on Steve’s skin

“Oh, fucking Christ,” Steve says, and then says it again when the bed shifts with the movements of Billy touching himself. He’s trembling and he needs Billy to just _do it_ because he’s going to come regardless, even if Billy tells him not to – he’s _so so close_ but he doesn’t want to be too -- oversensitive, or overstimulated, or over what-the-fuck-ever for Billy. But Billy’s touch keeps getting lighter and lighter until he’s not in Steve anymore at all, and Steve swings his head up from where it’s fallen back. Billy is up on his knees, looking down at his flaccid dick.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he’s whispering. He grasps it and gives it a few tugs, circles his thumb, squeezes it. Nothing happens. “Fuck, _fuck_.” His chest and shoulders are splotchy red and white like he gets in bed, but Steve catches the deep blush on the back of his neck and knows something is wrong.

“Hey.” Steve tries to sit up as much as he can with a stretched-out asshole and a leaking dick. His concern blocks out everything else. He tugs the sheet over himself, ignoring how bad his body kicks as the material settles over him, and tries to get closer. “Billy, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he says wetly. He won’t look at Steve. He’s still trying to get himself up. “Lay back down, I’m going to suck you off.”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve says. Billy huffs and gets off the bed. “Sweetheart, it’s okay, what’s up?” Billy closes the bedroom door behind him on his way out and Steve hears the bathroom door close, too. He gathers the blanket around his waist and goes across the hall. “Billy, it’s all right. Are you okay? That’s all I care about, I just want to know if you’re okay.”

He can hear Billy whispering to himself and making frustrated noises. Steve tries the doorknob, but, unsurprisingly, it’s locked.

“Billy, come on. Come back to bed. We can just go to sleep.”

Billy still doesn’t open the door, so Steve sighs and slides down the wall to sit and wait. He waits for about an hour before realizing that his bed has a direct view of the bathroom door, so he shuffles back into his room and pulls on some underwear.

He lays on his stomach with his head pillowed in his crossed arms, just watching the door, like he could miss it opening if he looked away for even a second. He can’t stop replaying it in his head, trying to figure out what he did wrong. Maybe Billy wanted to be the one being fingered and not Steve -- but why wouldn’t he _say_ something? And whenever he’s done it to Steve before, he always gets hard. Maybe he hated the necklace and the sheer thought of being inside Steve after that was just way, way too much. Sometimes Nancy didn’t want to have sex after he gave her gifts, either. 

He must fall asleep at some point, because when he opens his eyes again, the sun is coming in bright through the window and the bedroom door is closed. He shifts onto his right side, intent on going back to sleep, and sees Billy. Steve doesn’t know how they aren’t touching anywhere on this small of a bed; he’s even managed to smash a pillow in next to Steve’s to separate them that much more. All of it is deliberate.

“Hi,” Billy says quietly. He slowly, slowly raises up on his shoulder so he can lean over and kiss Steve. It’s that sweet, tender sort of kiss someone gives you before you get dumped.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers when Billy pulls away.

“What?” Billy sits up fully so he can look at Steve with his brow furrowed. Billy’s wearing a sweatshirt that says INDIANAPOLIS across the front, but Steve can see the necklace chain around his neck. He still has it on. “What are you talking about?”

Steve sits up alongside him. “You weren’t having a good time.”

“ _I wasn’t_ \--” Billy claps his hands over his face and throws his head back with a frustrated noise. “Oh my _God_ I literally didn’t think this could get any worse.”

“Look, it’s cool,” Steve says through the lump in his throat. “No hard feelings or whatever, I guess. I know I’m not -- like, _experienced_. With guys.”

Billy fixes him with an incredulous look. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about, Harrington? I’m not -- _fuck_. Fuck, fuck. It’s not you. I promise you, I was having a good time.”

“But you weren’t--”

“It happens sometimes,” Billy says. He’s blushing so hard he must be sweating bullets in his sweatshirt. “I wanna get it up -- _especially_ last night, God, you _know_ how much I’ve been wanting that, but sometimes it just _doesn’t happen_.”

Steve isn’t following. “Sometimes?” How has he _not noticed_. “Did I just -- _fuck_ , oh my _God_.” Steve puts his head in his hands, mortified. Has he been the only one _liking it?_ Was Billy shacking up with him because he felt bad for Steve? He’s the reason Gia dumped him, not that he knows that, and _oh my god_.

“No no no no, stop. _Stop_.” Billy puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders until Steve looks up, still absolutely humiliated. Billy looks almost panicked. “Look, it’s not you, all right? It’s me. Ever since the -- you know, ever since then I have problems with it sometimes. I don’t know why. I don’t know how to stop it.”

“How did I not notice?” Steve goes to hang his head again and Billy shakes him by the shoulders.

“Because I didn’t _tell you_ ,” he says. “Fuck, I don’t know. When it started happening, I just. Gave you head or rimmed you or something. Tried to make you feel good since I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

“Are you saying,” Steve says, then has to pause. “Have you been faking it?”

Billy opens his mouth immediately, looking determined, but something stops him. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Mother _fucker_ I didn’t think of it like that.”

“I didn’t even know guys could fake it. Oh, fucking hell.” Steve drops sideways out of Billy’s grasp and hides his face against the mattress and under the blanket. He thought he finally found a cheat to not be lied to about that, but somehow, it’s almost _worse_. “ _God_. What the hell is wrong with me that people have to keep _faking_.”

Billy shifts his weight and eases Steve’s hips flat against the bed so he can lay half-on top of him. When he pushes a hand through Steve’s hair, Steve lets his hands drop and shakes his head, unable to look at Billy.

“This is going to sound really stupid,” Billy says quietly, “but I _swear to God_ if I could’ve come out of my brain, it would’ve been leaking out my ears. You know how hot you looked last night? _Every_ night? I didn’t want you to think I don’t want it, ‘cause I do. It’s so fucking embarrassing to have to tell someone your dick doesn’t work and I didn’t want to have to see your face when I told you that. But here we are.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“I know. _I know._ That’s all on me.” He pauses, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Did you really think it was your fault?”

Steve shrugs.

“What the fuck did that Wheeler chick _do_ to you?”

“Told me I’m bullshit.” Steve looks up at him, tries to catalog what every shift in his expression might mean. “Told me us being in love was bullshit. All of it -- bullshit.”

Billy’s jaw clenches. “You’re not bullshit, Steve.” When Steve starts to shake his head, Billy’s face tightens. “ _No_. You’re not bullshit, Steve, what the fuck. I didn’t _pretend_ because I think you’re bullshit, I pretended because I think _I’m_ bullshit. Are you kidding me? You’ve fought those fucking monsters and you’re _still_ the nicest guy I’ve ever met. Why don’t you _get_ that?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he just keeps looking up at Billy.

“Fuck,” Billy says faintly.

Steve doesn’t believe him, not fully, but he reaches up anyway to cup the back of Billy’s head and pull him down for a kiss, then gets an arm around him so they’re just lying there tangled up, breathing against each other’s throats.

“You called me sweetheart,” Billy says quietly. He chuckles against Steve’s ear and follows it with a kiss, just a light one against his earlobe. Steve groans again and tries to roll away and Billy just holds onto him tighter. “No, I like it.” He kisses the shell of his ear. “Thanks for the necklace. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a present back.”

Steve turns his head and they’re close enough that Billy’s face looks distorted, but his eyes are bright blue above the weird blob of his not-nose.

“That’s not how presents work,” Steve says quietly. “I don’t want anything back.”

“Okay,” Billy says slowly. “Well, sorry I couldn’t say thank you.”

“You just did.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Are you always this annoying? Did I forget while you were gone?”

“Distance does make the heart grow fonder,” Steve says, then has to squirm away from the fingers Billy jabs into his ribs. “I can think of a way you can make it up to me.”

Billy bites his lip and quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he says, slow and sugary. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip and Steve is a sucker and _knows_ it and watches it anyway. “What’ve you got in mind, sweetheart?” He immediately wrinkles his nose. “Nah, I like it better when you say it.”

“No faking,” he says quietly. Billy’s face falls into something a little more serious. “If you really mean it, that it’s not me, don’t hide it. _Tell me_ if you’re not having fun, or tell me if you are but your dick isn’t getting the message.” He waits until Billy nods before he throws in, “Sweetheart.”

“Uhghh.” Billy buries his nose against Steve’s neck. “God, why does it sound so sexy when you say it?”

“I have a gift.”

xxx

“Were you and Billy hooking up before?”

“Wow. _Jesus_.” Steve whips around, like Billy’s going to appear behind him out of thin air, even when Steve _saw_ him leave twenty minutes ago to hang out with some of his friends. “We’re not beating around the bush, huh?”

“I would appreciate if you could answer the _question_ , Mr. Harrington.”

“Mr. H-- are you _interrogating_ me, Henderson?”

“It’s Billy Hargrove, Steve. I’m suspicious. This is an intervention because I love you.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Billy Hargrove,” Dustin continues loudly, calling his bluff. “Legendary abuser, womanizer, bully, homophobe, and _racist_ , all of a sudden wants a taste of _King Steve_?”

“Ughh, don’t talk about my taste.” 

“That doesn’t seem weird to you?”

Steve sighs, which he seems to be doing a lot these days when he and Dustin are talking. Dustin always brings Billy up, like someday he’s going to catch Steve off guard and get him to admit he’s been under some sort of magic spell this whole time. “No, man. Why can’t you just trust me and drop it? I’m not a kid, Jesus.” There’s some paper rustling on the other end of the phone. “Are you taking _notes?_ ”

“I went to the library to do some research.”

“Go to the train tracks and throw this meat around, they told me. Don’t worry about the kid, they said, _you’ll like him_.”

“I have a series of questions.”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

“Let me at least get a beer.” He kicks the kitchen chair over to the phone and grabs one of Robin’s weird grapefruit beers. He will not admit to liking them. “All right, dickhead.”

Dustin clears his throat. “How long have you and William Hargrove been having sexual relations?”

“Don’t make this weirder than it already is.”

“Okay, _fine._ How long have you and Billy been bumping uglies, or whatever you kids are calling it.”

“ _Christ_. I don’t know. A month and a half? Almost two months? Like I said, we’re not dating. I’m not keeping track of arbitrary anniversaries.”

“Is he sleeping with anyone else?”

“No,” Steve says. Up until recently, Billy was barely leaving the house. He doesn’t, like, _know_ , but it seems pretty unlikely. “We’re around each other, like, 24/7.” 

Dustin hums thoughtfully. “According to my sources, gay dudes have sex where one guy puts his penis into the other guy’s butt.”

“It’s called anal, Dustin,” he sighs, his voice pitching a little higher. He takes a very long drink.

“Great. So, when you guys do anal, or have anal, or are, I don’t know, anal-ing, are you wearing condoms?”

“What? No, we don’t do that.”

“Doesn’t wear condoms,” Dustin says in an undertone, like he’s writing it down.

“No, _birdshit_ , we don’t have sex like that. I mean, not yet.”

“But you’ll wear condoms.”

“Yeah,” Steve says uncertainly. Will they? _Why_? 

“Well, the great news is, you can’t get pregnant up the butt. Or, like, because you’re both dudes.”

“I’m learning so much,” Steve says, wishing for death.

“But you _can_ spread diseases that way, like a guy can give a girl a sexually transmitted disease. Does Billy have any STDs? Sorry, let me rephrase. Which STDs does Billy have?”

“Stop being a dick, Dustin.”

“I just want to make sure he’s not going to give you AIDS.”

“ _Dustin_.”

“You’re my best friend, man! You’re like a brother to me. I’m not going to let Billy Hargrove kill you in your sleep if me asking important questions could prevent it.”

“Look, man, if you have any evidence for being suspicious--”

“Beating you up at Will’s house,” Dustin says like he’s ticking it off on his fingers. “Bullying you in basketball. Almost killing _all of us_ , like, a bunch of different times. _Being the Mind Flayer._

“That wasn’t his fault,” Steve argues. “Would you say that to Will? Come on, Dustin.”

“He didn’t fight back,” Dustin says. Steve has to hold the mouthpiece away from his ear for a moment so he doesn’t yell at Dustin. He doesn’t even know _half_ of it. “And how did he survive, huh? We all saw him get killed. You really don’t think that it’s sort of suspicious that he’s, you know, _alive_?”

“Did you just call to be a dick about Billy?” Steve asks. He can feel himself starting to edge into being nasty. “I’m not going to stop being with him because you think he sucks.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Dustin says. “Can I just ask one more thing?”

“Just one?” Steve mocks.

“Is he good to you?” Steve blinks, surprised at the sudden change in Dustin’s tone. “Like, _really_. He treats you okay? Are you happy?

“Oh,” Steve says. He can feel a rush of heat to his face even though Dustin can’t even see him. “Yeah. No, he’s… he’s really good to me. I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

xxx

“He won’t tell me any more juicy gossip about you,” Maggie says. They’re sitting on the bleachers in the gym watching Billy and the rest of the summer team play. Maggie’s sitting out because she sprained her ankle and Steve decided to join her instead of filling in because all he’s really here for is Billy’s ass in his basketball shorts anyway. When Billy sees Steve, he gives him the same, challenging look he gave him in high school; same sweeping tongue, wide eyes, that swagger that makes it seem like his dick is too big to walk with unless his legs are splayed out. Steve feels so, so stupid that he didn’t figure this shit out in high school. “Why’d you bring a friend from home if he’s not going to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets?”

Steve smiles and gives her a side-eye. “Do I really look like someone with deep, dark secrets?”

Maggie turns to look at him, finger on her chin, contemplating. He shoves her a little and she laughs. “No, you look like one of those tortured poets who only writes about trauma in metaphors but grew up in the suburbs in an upper-middle-class family and have two parents who love him.” She pinches his arm. “That should be your Halloween costume.”

“It’s June. Did you not notice that this gym is _literally_ sitting in the fires of hell? This is the devil’s basketball court, Maggie.”

“Black queens don’t sweat,” she says, even though he can see a thin sheen of moisture along her hairline. “Besides, if you don’t think about it, it isn’t happening.”

“God, I wish that were true. Shit grades? Don’t think about it. Rent’s due? Don’t think about it. Reagan in office again? Don’t think about it.”

“Don’t even talk to me about that jackass unless you have some liquor in those pockets of yours.”

Steve throws his head back and groans. “ _That’s_ what I forgot!”

“There’s always a fee, Harrington. For as much as you’ve dodged our games, you owe me _lots_. Like, I’m talking open bar at my wedding. Oh, even better. You and Billy are coming to the Fourth of July party at my friend Kat’s place, so just bring the good stuff there. Then we’ll be even steven.”

“Your friend’s cat’s place,” he repeats back.

“No. My friend _Kat’s_ place. The place of my friend Kat.”

Steve squints at her, getting it but not willing to give in just yet. “How did a cat get good enough credit to get a place?” She rolls her eyes and bumps their shoulders. “Thanks for the invite.”

She gives him a look. “I didn’t invite you. I _told_ you.”

“Oh, pardon me.” 

“Hey, so what’s with your boy there and his sweatshirts?” From here, Steve can just barely see the few scars that spiderweb out in thin lines over his thighs.

“He was in a car accident,” Steve says. He wishes there was anything in the world that could explain it better, that people would believe and not ask questions about. “He’s got scars all over his chest and arms. He’s really self-conscious about it. He used to be, like, _really_ into his body.”

Maggie nods slowly, thoughtfully. “That’s why he has the limp, too?” Steve nods. “That’s a shit draw.”

Billy whistles loudly between his teeth, startling them both. “Harrington!” he yells. “Get your ass down here so I can spank it just like I did in high school in _every. Single. Game._ ”

Steve rolls his eyes while some of the other guys laugh. “Avenge me,” he says to Maggie, and jogs down the steps to where Billy is standing and waiting.

“You’re skins,” one of the other guys says.

“Skins, babydoll,” Billy repeats. Steve pulls off his tee shirt, not breaking eye contact unless he has to. Billy smirks back at him lazily, looking all of sixteen years old and Hawkins High’s newest bad boy. 

“This douchebag thing’s kinda doing it for me,” Steve says in an undertone. “Like, don’t get me wrong, _super_ fucking annoying in high school. But, like, _super_ hot right now.” He means it to come out mocking, but it’s also not entirely untrue, so it doesn’t quite hit the mark.

Billy keeps grinning at him until Steve drops his sweatpants and piles his discarded clothes on the bleachers. When he turns around, Billy’s smile is gone entirely.

“Remember these?” Steve throws out his arms and does a slow, dramatic turn. The others have mostly lost interest in them taking shots at each other and are trying to spin the balls on their fingertips. “Turns out I never threw away my funky-ass high school gym shorts.” He wasn’t intending on breaking them out in front of Billy’s friends. They were more supposed to be a surprise for _after_ , but now that Steve knows he’s not going to get his face rearranged, he’s not afraid to give Billy as good as he gets.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Billy says, eyes wide. Steve hikes a leg up onto the bench to retie his shoe and stretch out his hamstring. “Jesus Christ, who fucking lets you leave the house like that? Fuckin’ indecent. Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

“We gonna play or what?” one of the guys yells. Steve recognizes him, but it takes a moment to realize he’s the guy from Eric’s party that was hanging off of Billy the night they kissed. He’s skins too, which is a shame, because all Steve needs is plausible deniability. 

Playing feels _good_. He doesn’t move his body like this anymore. He and the others on his team connect pretty quickly, even with it being his first time playing with girls, and score more points on the shirts in half an hour than Hawkins had ever scored in a single game the entire time Steve played. Billy plays dirty, just like he did before, except now Steve can play dirty right back when Billy hovers behind him by grinding back against his half-chub.

Billy is by far the best player on the shirts, even though the rest of the team is trying and seem to be having fun. Steve is definitely not as good as Billy likes to imply. Phil turns out to be the best player on _his_ team, which means Billy’s up against him too, and Steve doesn’t want Phil to get the wrong idea and think Billy’s wood is for him. Steve has been stupid and jealous too many times in his young life to lose out to a shitbag named _Phil_.

They play first-to-ten. Maggie cheers and boos to support both sides and then screams when Matt scoops her up and pretends he’s going to throw her off the bleachers.

Billy shoulders him. “Let’s hit the showers, Harrington.”

“It’s like a ten-minute walk back to the apartment.”

“Let’s just shower here.”

“I don’t have a towel or anything.”

“We’ll go get something to eat after. Come on.” He tilts his head and starts walking so Steve has no choice but to follow. They share this gym with a nearby high school, so it’s empty and dark for the summer. The locker rooms are far in the back near what looks like an indoor tennis court.

“Why don’t we just,” Steve starts, but the second they’re in the bathroom, Billy is pushing him towards the end of the stalls and into the last one, quick and urgent. Billy draws the curtain closed, points the shower head away from them, and flicks on the water. Then Steve’s being pressed chest-first into the wall, Billy kicking his feet out a little, and then Billy is _kneeling_. “Billy, _what the fuck_.”

“Thought I was gonna bust a fuckin’ nut out there,” he says. He licks the sweat from Steve’s dimples of Venus; dips lower to nose against Steve’s shorts, following with his mouth as he pulls them down. “I _knew_ you weren’t fucking wearing underwear, _God_. Such a fucking slut.”

“Gonna be honest,” Steve says, on board and getting comfortable. He puts his forearms on the wall so he can stick his ass out a little farther, and Billy bites at his strap, snapping it against Steve’s skin with his teeth, and pulls it down. “I’m not the one literally on my knees about to eat _ass_ in the showers of a high school gymnasium.” But he likes how Billy is kneading him, biting and licking and Steve doesn’t ever remember Nancy or Gia being particularly interested in his ass cheeks, but _Billy_.

“So sue me,” he says. His breath is hot and Steve clenches his jaw against the zing that runs up his spine. “I’m living out a high school fantasy.” He stoops and drags his tongue all the way from Steve’s perineum to the small of his back and Steve has to bite his arm to stop himself from yelling. “Relax, nobody comes in here. God, you fucking _reek_.” He wraps his hands around Steve’s thighs and makes some truly obscene noises and Steve has to try really hard not to rock back against him.

“Thought about this after every practice,” Billy says, voice gravely. He kisses the skin at the edge of Steve’s upper thigh and groin. “I’d shower, do all that shit so I didn’t look like I was drooling for it.” Billy actually gasps against his skin and it feels _good_ , obviously, but the way Billy sounds so wrecked already is what’s really getting to him. “Then I’d get in my car, drop off the brat, drive onto the backroads until I found somewhere hidden enough, and I’d fucking rub myself raw, thinking about you. Finger myself without lube, that’s how wet you got me. Thinking about eating you out like this after a game.”

“Billy,” Steve says breathlessly. His legs are starting to tremble.

“I didn’t bring any Vaseline. Sorry, babydoll. Didn’t think you were going to give me a fucking hard-on on the court. Gonna have to make do with my mouth.”

“You’re talking a lot for someone whose face is in my ass,” Steve says, but doesn’t last more than a few more minutes. His knees feel like jelly but he just leans more of his weight into the wall. Billy catches some of Steve’s jizz in his cupped hand like he’s catching rain and dribbles it down Steve’s asscrack, and Billy’s barely cleaned it up before his breath catches and he comes in his pants.

As soon as Billy lets go of him, Steve pulls up his shorts so he can sit down. His thighs are still trembling. Billy throws himself onto his back underneath the spray of the shower, as spread-eagle as he can be in the stall. Steve watches him passively catching water in his mouth. When he spits, it runs down his cheeks.

“I can die happy now,” Billy says. Steve rolls his eyes and grabs Billy’s ankle, and Billy twitches almost violently as soon as he touches him. “Fuck, like. My whole body is on fire. All of my nerves are fucking head-banging right now. If I had to choose between winning the fuckin’ O’Brien trophy or eating your ass in a nasty-ass shower stall, I’d pick you every time. Mother _fucker_.”

Steve’s had sex with his fair share of girls, but none of them had ever gone on like Billy does. Steve could touch his dick and he’ll arch like it’s the second coming of Christ. At first, he thought Billy was playing it up, but he’s never stopped. He wonders if Billy was like this with all of the girls he hooked up with in Hawkins. If he’s really just that sensitive. Nobody has ever talked so much about how great Steve is -- not even just sex, at anything _ever_. He can’t wrap his head around the fact that this idiot laying on a public shower floor under a steady stream of lukewarm water is the same person who smashed a plate over his head only three years ago.

Steve _loves him_.

They sit there for a while, just looking at each other. Rivulets of water keep streaming down Billy’s face and into his eyes and he just blinks them away. His sweatshirt and Steve’s Nike’s are soaked. Billy’s shorts are wet enough that Steve can’t even see the cum stain anymore. And Steve loves him.

“You don’t even know how sexy you are, do you?” Billy asks. It comes out a little gurgled from the water running into his mouth. He keeps trying to spit it out, but it mostly just sprays above him and comes back into his eye, which is incredible to watch. Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he just squeezes Billy’s ankle again. “God, you were wasted on those bitches, lemme tell ya.”

He sits up and reaches a hand out for Steve to slide him closer. Billy kisses him. Steve kisses back.

xxx

He turns the corner into the cereal aisle and runs directly into Gia. He says _ope_ and she says, “Oh, sorry, I’m so -- oh. Steve.”

“Gia,” he says.” They look at each other for a moment. It feels like forever since they’ve seen each other even though it’s barely been two months. She looks the same, which shouldn’t come as a surprise, but does a bit anyway. “Hey. Hi. How are you?”

“I’m doing okay.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles at him. “How are you?”

“I’m all right. You know, just doin’ my _thang_. Or… whatever.” 

“Got it,” Billy says behind him, reaching around to drop a tub of sour cream into the basket hanging off Steve’s arm. He pauses when he sees Gia and gives her a slow shark smile. Steve makes a face at him and he just winks back.

“Oh,” Gia says, his eyes going round. “Hi. Steve’s... friend.”

“Billy.” He extends a hand in the slowest, sexiest way possible. Steve doesn’t know why he’s even bothering. “Your name slipped my mind. I’m getting…” He clicks his fingers and Steve groans preemptively. “Is it Beautiful?”

Steve groans again for good measure, muttering _so fuckin’ lame_ under his breath. He’s a little disappointed that Gia is blushing and smiling. No _wonder_ she ditched him, if she’s into that. Not that Steve really has room to talk.

“Are you going home this summer?” Steve interjects. Gia’s eyes take a moment to flick back to him. 

She nods. “I’m from Italy,” she says to Billy. “Torino.”

“Primo Levi,” Billy says, still smiling. “ _Survival in Auschwitz, If Not Now, When?_. Good man. Just died, I heard.”

“Yes,” she says breathily. “A tragedy. You are a reader?”

“What are you doing when you get back to Turin?” Steve says. Again, she has to tear her eyes away from Billy. Steve doesn’t blame her, but _come on_. She dumped him because she thought he and Billy should hook up, and here she is anyway. “You, uh. You gonna eat pasta?”

It’s a stupid thing to say, but he’s nervous and annoyed and hates that there is so much fear in him that Billy’s going to realize he’s not good enough, not smart enough, doesn’t give him what he _needs_. Billy breathes _oh jesus_ behind him and Gia looks like she’s having the same exact thought.

“He’s much smoother than you,” she says. Billy touches his lower back with his fingertips like he’s saying _take it easy, Harrington_. “You should take some lessons.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Billy says teasingly. His fingertips slip below the waistband and Billy knocks their shoulders to disguise the way Steve jumps. “You should take some lessons.”

“I can’t pull that shit off like he can,” Steve says. Billy rolls his eyes. “Just imagine me saying that.”

“I’ve heard you say plenty of smooth shit, babydoll.” He says it the way he used to say _pretty boy_ and _princess_. “Why do you think you’ve got so many pretty eyelashes batting in your direction?”

“Are you going back to Indiana?” Gia asks.

Billy whispers _fat fucking chance_ under his breath. “No,” Steve says. “We’re hanging out here for the summer. When are you leaving?”

“Mid-July,” she says. “My friend Jenna is getting married the weekend after Independence Day.”

“We’re going to a Fourth of July party,” Steve says. He can almost hear Billy screaming inside even though he’s still grinning. It’s tight around the corners. “You should come.”

Her eyes light up. “Oh, awesome! Where is it? Should I meet you there or come to your apartment?”

“Meet us there,” Billy says, quickly enough that Steve notices but Gia doesn’t. 

“You know Maggie, right?”

“She has the…” She gestures.

“Afro, yeah.”

“You should say she wears it natural,” Billy says, voice still syrupy. “That’s what she prefers.”

“Natural,” Gia says, nodding. “Okay. Yes, I know her.”

“Her friend Kat is hosting.”

“Oh!” Gia beams. “Kat, I know her too. She is Italian.”

“Awesome. We’ll see you there.”

“Good to see you again.” She puts a hand on Steve’s arm so she can smile up at him, which he thinks she means to be a genuine gesture of good will, but mostly just makes him uncomfortable. Billy smiles and does his weird cool-guy cocked-hand wave, like he’s saluting her, and watches her until she leaves the aisle.

“Fucking bitch,” he says under his breath, dropping the act immediately 

“You don’t even know her.” Their shoulders bump as Billy steers him around to continue down the cereal aisle. Billy has a little curl growing in at his temple that never seems to want to stick in the right direction. As far as Steve knows, Billy is still avoiding mirrors, so he might not even know. Steve wants to smooth it down and watch it pop up again, but they’re in the middle of Dominick’s on a Tuesday afternoon and there’s like four new tubs of Vaseline at the bottom of the basket and he can’t do any of the things he wants to do. He wants everyone to know that Billy’s off the market so they’ll stop making eyes at him, but the alternative is opening themselves up to a whole new kind of stare and Billy doesn’t deserve that.

“I know enough. That Wheeler bitch, too. I don’t care if she’s a girl, I’d like to knock her teeth in.”

“Jesus,” Steve says. “It’s not like she fucked me up that bad. I mean, she sort of did, but. Like, I got over it.”

Billy throws an arm around his shoulders. He’s been keyed up all day and that was great when he wanted to expend that energy by fucking Steve’s thighs, but now he’s not sure where he’s going to burn the rest of the energy off. He doesn’t have basketball until tomorrow.

“You ever heard the expression _it takes a village_?” Billy asks and leaves it at that.

xxx

“ _Stop_ ,” Steve says, but it comes out as a laugh, almost breathless. His erection is tucked into the elastic waistband of his briefs and Billy keeps bumping up against it while they make out.

“Stop what?” Billy says, flicking the tip. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re,” Steve starts, but Billy kisses him deep, which turns into Billy nudging his knee between Steve’s legs, which turns into Steve coming way, way too fast. He’s still really sensitive from last time and doesn’t even spit out that much, but Billy leans down to suck at him anyway. “What is it with you and jizz, man?”

“Havin’ a good fuckin’ time,” Billy says, voice slow and lazy. He’s still humping Steve’s leg, moving in slow, aching circles. His head is tilted back, mouth open, like this is blowing his mind. Like Steve is doing _anything_ other than laying there, having a leg for him to rub off on. “Means I made you feel so good. Fuckin’ went blind for a minute from how hard I came, lickin’ it outta your ass.”

“You like my ass?” Steve shifts the hand on his hip into the back of his briefs, pushes back against the light touch of Billy’s fingers and forward so his hips catch Billy’s a little harder, a little better. If Billy doesn’t come soon, Steve’s going to get hard fucking _again_ watching Billy getting wrecked on his fucking _thigh_. “Jesus, Billy, just take what you fucking want.”

Billy grunts and kneads into him, fingers digging into the muscle. Steve has always considered himself to have a super-average ass, overshadowed anyway by his hair. He might not _get_ it, but he gets ass massages on the regular, so it’s in his benefit no matter which way you spin it.

After he comes, Billy stretches lazily and shifts into the stream of daylight peeking in from the window. Steve watches him doze for a while, content just playing with Billy’s hair.

“Let’s go to Milwaukee,” Steve whispers when Billy blinks awake.

“Milwaukee?” he says, stretching. “What the fuck is there in Milwaukee?”

“Exactly.” Steve raises his eyebrow, waiting for Billy to understand what he’s saying, but Billy just continues to look at him blearily through his one open eye. “I want to take you on a date.”

The words hang out there between them for what feels like eternity to Steve. Billy looks absolutely caught off guard, like nobody’s taken him on a date before. And -- honestly, it’s really possible that he’s only ever been the one taking people out. It’s kind of the same for Steve. None of his girlfriends had ever planned anything for _him_.

“All right,” Billy finally says. Both eyes are open now; his expression is still confused and his face is bright pink. “Why?”

Steve shrugs. “I got to do a lot more things in public with Gia than I get to with you. We can walk around and, like, I’ll take you to dinner at a fancy restaurant where guys don’t take their friends. You know?” Billy doesn’t say anything. “But, like. If you don’t want to, it’s okay. It’s a dumb idea, I don’t know why I even said it.”

Billy, shaking his head, goes up on his elbow. “Not a chance, Harrington. I heard the words _steak dinner_ come out of your mouth. Can’t take it back now.” Billy tries to follow through with his stoic shit, but he mirrors Steve when he smiles.

“You know what’s weird,” Steve says. Billy tangles their fingers together between them and thumbs across Steve’s knuckles. “I had a dream about this before we found you. I mean, like. Not _exactly_ like this.”

“Ohohoh,” Billy says. “Do I finally get to hear about your wet dreams? Hargrove better not’ve shown you a better time than I do.”

“Oh my God, it was all I could think about for weeks.”

“Uh-huh,” Billy says. “Tell me about it. I wanna hear how I got your panties wet.”

“We were in my room,” Steve says. The dream feels a little distant now, almost indistinguishable from all of the other times they’ve been together since then. “You kept calling me King Steve, I think. You kept telling me to stop thinking. You told me I’m a virgin.”

Billy half-laughs, a line appearing between his eyebrows. His eyes dart back and forth on Steve’s face like he’s trying to remember something.

“You got me off with your mouth through my briefs. Fucking good as shit.”

“Spiderman,” Billy says suddenly, then looks like the words came out of his mouth of their own volition. 

“Spiderman what,” Steve says. He doesn’t even like Spiderman. The only thing he ever had that was Spiderman was a pair of pajama pants Robin’s parents got him the Christmas after Starcourt, but those had been stolen from the laundry room a few weeks after --

Oh, shit.

“Spiderman pants,” Steve says. 

“You came in like five seconds.” Billy doesn’t even say it teasingly like he usually does when he’s too lazy to edge Steve.

“I,” Steve starts. They stare at each other for a few beats before Steve sweeps the blanket off the bed and looks desperately.

“What are you doing?” Billy says as Steve rolls him over to get to the top corner. There it is, _there it is_ \-- right under Billy’s pillow. Steve points at it and sits back on his heels like that settles the matter. The stain is still as black as it was the morning it appeared. Steve never did find that pen. Maybe there never _was_ a pen. 

Billy looks unconvinced. “What am I looking at?” he says. “A pen exploded.”

Steve chews on his lip, looking around the room for something to help him make his case. And then he sees it: the spiderweb scar on Billy’s forearm. The first time he saw it, he wondered why it looked so familiar. He grabs Billy’s arm and pulls it forward so he’s on his elbows. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says, but he looks pale. The scar and the stain are the same pattern. “Like, that’s weird, but not _that_ weird.”

“Nothing makes sense with this stuff,” Steve says. “Right before we found you -- I told you I dreamed about you, right? I dreamed so much shit and I thought I dreamed about us having sex, but now I kind of don’t think I did.” Billy continues to look at him, not saying anything. “Look, after the shit we’ve been through in Hawkins, I’ll believe anything.” He reaches forward to play with Billy’s necklace for lack of something to do with his hands, and because part of him thinks Billy is going to bolt.

When Billy does say something, it comes out quiet and halting. “Is that how… you know about… you weren’t fucking with me. You didn’t, I don’t know. Read my fuckin’ diary or something. You actually…”

 _Damian_ hangs in the air between them. Steve nods slowly.

“I don’t know everything,” he says. “Just a few memories.”

Billy’s mouth twitches, stretched thin in displeasure. He pulls his arm back to run a hand over his head. “How come you think we fucked in present-day while most of your dreams were memories?”

Steve takes a deep breath as he thinks. He was himself in that dream. What makes that different from the dreams when he wasn’t himself?

“What did you -- I don’t know. What did you think about? That year you -- the year you were gone.”

They don’t talk about it often, but it’s still there, just like it always will be. 

Billy lets out a shaky breath, then nods like he’s psyching himself up. “Staying alive,” he says. His eyes fix on a spot over Steve’s shoulder and he looks haunted, almost like just thinking back to Hopper’s cabin saps the life out of him. “My dad’s parents were really into the Bible. When I was a kid -- like, _really_ little -- I would ask my grandma to read some passages to me. I didn’t understand what they meant, but it made me think of them. It’s not like they were good grandparents or anything. Part of me probably thought that if I could quote scripture, they would be around more. I spent so much time trying to remember any prayer that would’ve gotten me out of that cabin. I’ve spent so many years _hating_ God, hating everyone who followed him, because he made me a faggot and made me fall in love with the wrong person and stuck me in the middle of nowhere with my goddamn _father_.”

Billy closes his eyes and sits for a minute, breathing through his nose. Steve wants to touch him, rub his arm or brush his hair back behind his ears. He doesn't.

“I prayed for forgiveness a lot. I didn’t remember how to pray and I wondered if God wouldn’t save me because I forgot how to pray. I prayed that it would let me go so nobody human came across the cabin, because I didn’t want it--” Billy turns his face into his shoulder, mouth screwing up. “Weeks would pass where I wasn’t even me,” he continues shakily after a few minutes. “I just did what it wanted me to do. After a while -- you get _so tired_. I didn’t know if I would be there forever. The thought that I would have to fight forever just seemed -- impossible. Exhausting. I wondered if I was worth finding at all, you know? I’ve never been that good of a person. I didn’t know if it would be in me forever. I slept when it would leave me alone. I ate whatever I could find. I couldn’t run for help, because how the _fuck_ do you handle that, as someone who’s never dealt with that shit? And anyway, it would know. It was always there.” 

He jabs a finger against his temple and lets himself cry for a moment before continuing. “It knows. _Everything_. It knows what you’re doing. You can _feel_ it when it’s in there, like there’s a balloon in your head that gets bigger and bigger the less it likes what you’re doing or what you’re thinking about. I thought my head was going to explode the first few days whenever I thought about how to escape. It hurts _so bad_. I gave up after a while. There was no point.”

Steve leans into him, tucking his face into Billy’s neck. Billy gasps and wraps his arms around Steve like Steve’s the only thing keeping him from floating away.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I asked. You don’t have to tell me.”

Billy pushes him back by the shoulders. He looks determined, even with wet tracks down his cheeks. “Once I gave up,” he continues, his eyes straying from Steve’s and his brow wrinkling, “I started thinking about things. Things I missed. Things I was gonna miss. Good memories. Shit memories. Regrets. Things I didn’t get to do. That fucking -- I know that night. I remember it because it was the first time I’d been allowed to be somewhere else for a little bit. Usually it took me away from things really fast. It took me out of my own head. But that night, it let me be somewhere else for a little bit before--” He slaps his hand against his leg. Steve raises it up so he can kiss his palm. “It wasn’t… in me that night. I don’t know where it went. I thought about you. How bad I wanted you. How bad I wanted to make you happy. That’s the only time I ever touched myself out there. I just -- you looked so _good_ in my head, and I couldn’t tell up from down anyway, so I leaned into it. Pretended it was real. I didn’t think about it again, though. I prayed more. I was scared that I fucked up again, that God was even angrier because I still wanted you. I could’ve been there a whole year, or five, or ten, and I wouldn’t have known.”

Billy inhales, looking almost lighter, and reaches for Steve’s hand to thread their fingers together.

“I was in the Upside Down once,” Steve says.

Billy’s eyes flick up to his. “Why do you call it that?”

Steve shrugs. “That’s what the kids call it. I don’t know, it sounds better than the cold, spooky place with the dark floaty bits.”

Billy starts to shake so violently that Steve eases him onto his back so he can half-lay on top of him. A weight. A way to say _I’ve got you_. He wonders how much time he spent there.

“You,” Billy starts. Steve shakes his head.

“It was never in me. We, uh. The kids, they found a place out on one of the farms where it had made a tunnel. I went down with them to find the source of it. We burned it. Tried to kill it. It tried to kill Will in return.” He blinks as the throbbing of his eye and the metallic taste of his cracked lip come back. “That was the night you came to the house.”

“The night I--” Billy’s face smooths out. Three years ago, Steve would have thought he was about to get socked in the face. Now, he can see the horror in Billy’s eyes.

“Hey,” he says before Billy can go too far down that path. “ _Hey._ You didn’t know. Okay? And even if I tried to tell you, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

Billy takes a shaky breath and runs his fingers along the veins on the inside of Steve’s wrist up to the crook of his elbow. “I wish I would have. I wish I could have helped. I was so broken up inside.”

“There was no way you could have helped us that night.” Steve leans forward to press a kiss against his cheek. Billy closes his eyes, leaning into it, and a tear rolls down and onto Steve’s upper lip. “Do you think… I don’t know. Being down there could have… opened something up in me? Gave me, like, superpowers to communicate with my mind or something? I was thinking about you, you were thinking about me. Do you think maybe…?”

Billy inhales sharply, scaring Steve. “I don’t know,” he says, suddenly so intense that Steve jerks back. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t _fucking_ matter. Look, don’t -- don’t _ever_ go down there again, Steve, okay?” Steve doesn’t answer, just keeps looking at him with big, concerned eyes, and Billy’s hand comes around to grip him hard by the back of the neck. “ _Steve_. I’m fucking serious. I need you to promise me. Not again, okay? Not ever.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Okay, all right. I promise.”

“Don’t ever let it get inside you, okay? Don’t fuck with it, Steve. Don’t let it become you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve says, trying to match his intensity, but Billy immediately shies away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Billy says. “I’m going to -- I don’t know, go take a shower or something.”

“Okay.”

Billy gets up unsteadily and it’s only then that Steve realizes they’ve both been naked for this entire conversation. Come is still smeared across Billy’s stomach. Something about it combined with the tenseness of their combined trauma strikes him weird and he bursts out laughing.

“What,” Billy says. When Steve doesn’t answer, he says, more forcefully, “I said, _what_.”

Steve gets up and pulls Billy against him so he can kiss his cheek, his nose, his chin. “You’re covered in jizz, sweetheart,” he says, trying to stop laughing and failing pretty dramatically. Billy looks down at himself, furrow appearing between his eyebrows, and Steve tilts his chin back up so he can catch his mouth in a kiss. After a moment, Billy comes back into his own head. After a moment, he smiles back. 

xxx

Steve is excited anyway to get home because _he bought Billy a book_ \-- like, voluntarily went into a bookstore by himself _for the first time ever_ , and he looked for the most badass looking front cover and the most boring sounding back cover -- but Billy’s laugh filtering through the front door is enough to get him jogging up the last flight of stairs.

“Hey, Billy,” he says as soon as he gets in. He drops his bag by the door and goes around into the living room and there’s -- “Phil,” he says. “Awesome.”

Billy is sitting on the floor with his back resting up against the couch, a phonebook open in his lap. Phil is sitting diagonal to him against the radiator with his knees pulled up to his chest. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off his gnarly muscles and the cool thorny crown tattoo that wraps around his bicep. Shit, and Steve’s standing there like some schmuck in a vest and flannel like he’s Marty fuckin’ McFly.

“Hey,” Phil says, nodding at him, all _friendly_ , like he isn’t trying to steal Steve’s – steal Steve’s --

Billy lolls his head back against the couch to look at Steve, making sure to soak in every inch of Steve’s retrospectively _very_ unsexy outfit, on his way up to Steve’s face. “Hey,” he says, smiling. He’s wearing shorts and a sweatshirt like he’s just coming from the gym, or just leaving for it. The necklace Steve gave him is hanging against the center of his chest like a beacon.

“Whaaat are you guys up to.” If Billy was a girl, Steve would overdo the role of affectionate boyfriend so Phil would know the score. But Billy is _Billy_ and if Steve even touched him in a way that could be construed in _that way_ , Steve isn’t entirely sure that Billy wouldn’t roundhouse his ass straight out the window.

“Looking at some gyms,” Billy says. The part of Steve that pastes a big ole THREAT stamp on Phil’s forehead is still sounding the alarm, because getting cheated on by the person you love _doesn’t leave you_ , so he steps over Billy’s outstretched legs and sits on the couch. It’s petty as fuck and Billy flicks an eyebrow up at him, but if his knobby knees are what’s keeping Phil from sucking Billy’s dick right in front of him, then _so be it._

“Nice, nice.” Steve doesn’t really have any conversation topics in mind, which makes this ten times weirder. He sees Billy roll his eyes.

“What’s that?” Billy asks, breaking the slightly stilted silence, and wrestles the book out of Steve’s hands. He forgot he was holding it. “ _Cosmos_ ,” he says, flipping through the pages like he’s fanning the used-book smell into his face. “What, you decide to switch to astrology?”

“It’s for you,” Steve says, feeling a little awkward. Billy’s face softens a little as he smiles up at Steve.

“Thanks, man.”

“I know you don’t like sci-fi as _much_ as history, uh, historical novels or whatever, but.” Steve reaches out to flip the book around in Billy’s hands so he can point to the front cover. “I saw this and thought, what if this is what an asshole looks like from the inside.”

Billy stares down at the fuzzy red light amidst a dark sky for a moment before he bursts out laughing. “You’re so fucking weird, Harrington,” he says, leaning into Steve’s knee to pass the book over to Phil. Billy’s fingernails scratch at the hair on the back of Steve’s right calf where Phil can’t see even if he was looking. Phil has the nerve to laugh too, like he gets the significance of an asshole between Steve and Billy -- like, the _significance_ significance, not just the significance. Steve couldn’t forget that shower stall if he tried.

“Shoot, we gotta run if we’re gonna make this,” Phil says suddenly, looking down at his watch. He pushes himself up to a crouch and starts gathering his things. Billy thumps the phone book onto the coffee table and stretches, trying to stick his fingers into Steve’s nose in the process.

“You go ahead, I’ll be right down,” Billy tells Phil, who shrugs.

“I don’t mind waiting.”

“It’ll just take a sec. It’s nice outside, get that stretching in before we get into that stanky-ass gym.”

Phil smiles, wide and bright, and Steve hates him for no other reason than being _hot_ and fit and in Billy’s space when Steve’s not there. He also does a half-salute and _pulls it off_. Then Steve loves him because he leaves and closes the door behind him, so Steve swings one of his legs over Billy’s shoulder.

“What’s your beef?” Billy asks, but sounds more amused than anything. He presses his thumbs into the swell of Steve’s calf and into a muscle he didn’t even realize was tight.

“I don’t like that guy.”

Billy tilts his head back to look up at Steve, and Steve runs a hand through his hair, marveling as always at how soft and loose it is. Steve puts way too much shit in his hair for it to feel like anything except mildly crusted over. 

“Why not? Phil’s a good guy. We play basketball together, you remember.”

Steve shakes his head, now more distracted by the soft grunt he gets from Billy as he presses his fingertips against his scalp. Billy goes boneless, just like Steve knew he would.

“I don’t know. Something about him.” He makes a face and can’t believe he’s actually sitting here having this stupid conversation. “He seems off.”

Billy lazily opens one of his eyes to look up at Steve, and then he’s suddenly pulling away so he can turn and stare at Steve, his eyes wide and round.

“You’re jealous,” Billy says, sounding way too pleased. He pushes himself up to sit on the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes and makes a sound and Billy grabs his kneecap to jostle him. “You _are_. I don’t know _why_ , but I’ve screwed around enough to know it when I see it.”

“He was all over you at Eric’s party,” Steve says.

“There we go,” Billy says, nodding; then, “Wait, _what_?”

“That night we -- Eric’s party, remember, never have I ever and all that. He kept touching you and, I don’t know, batting his eyelashes or whatever.”

“He’s not a _girl_ , Steve.” Billy sounds both incredulous and amused, which is sort of an annoying look. “What do you mean he was all over me? He’s a fucking chiropractor, he was showing me the best muscle to build back up after the car accident if I wanna keep playing basketball.”

“You said you ditched him at the party.”

Billy throws his head back to look up at the ceiling. “I ditched him to leave with _you_ , dumbass. You can ditch people you’re not putting your dick in, you know.” Steve can’t think of a reply, so he crosses his arms and hunches up his shoulders. He’s starting to feel like he overreacted. “He’s got a girlfriend, man.”

“So did I.” The words are out of Steve’s mouth before he can stop them. Billy looks for a second like he’s been slapped across the face.

“ _Wow_ ,” he says. “Steve, what the _fuck_. It’s not like I got between you and Gia.” He must see the way Steve’s eyes dart away because he leans with them to try and catch his gaze. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times before he can even say it. “She dumped me because she thought I should be with you. Because she couldn’t give me what you could.”

Billy stares at him for what feels like ages. “I don’t even know what to say to that,” Billy says. “ _Wow_ , I like that bitch even less than I did before. Hitting on me at Dominick’s _in front of you_ was bad enough, but _this_? And I’m not fucking Phil, man, come on. Are you kidding me? You think I’m going to pass up your fucked-up ass for a shot at Straight Boy Sam over there?” Steve still can’t look at him and Billy actually claps his hands over his eyes in frustration. “ _Fuck_ , I cannot afford to be surprised any more in this conversation. I’m fuckin’ -- I’m not sleeping around, all right? You’re, like, it. Or whatever.”

Steve drops his head so he can rub both hands through his hair and simmer alone in his embarrassment for a minute. But then Billy is touching his leg, and then his knee, and then fisting a hand in the hair at the crown of his head so Steve has to look into his face. Steve expects annoyance, irritation, anger, maybe even something mocking. He knows it’s not fair to Billy for him to expect that. What he’s met with is a look of sadness.

“I’m not like Wheeler,” he says quietly. “All right?”

“I know.”

Billy gets up to sit on the couch next to him. He’s close and Steve can’t help touching him. His knees are rough and scabby from the team moving their games to the outside court whenever they can. Billy puts his palm up so Steve’s hand can slide against it and they can grab each other’s wrists. Billy’s other hand comes up to nudge Steve’s face towards him, and he locks his thumb against Steve’s chin, his fingertip just barely missing his bottom lip. Billy just looks at him for a while, like he’s going to find the answers somewhere in Steve’s face.

“I’m not like that,” he says softly, “not with people I -- I don’t do that. Not when it matters.”

Steve tangles his free hand in Billy’s necklace.

“Sorry.”

“No,” Billy says. He leans forward to kiss Steve’s bottom lip, moves away before Steve can pull him in. “Don’t. I get it.”

Steve presses their foreheads together, then their temples, just watching the way Billy’s thumb moves over the pulse point in his wrist. He could say it now, so easily: I love you. Don’t leave. I love you.

“I’m gonna go,” Billy says against his cheek. “We’re going to the gym. That’s it. Gonna save all that sweat and stink for you, huh?”

Steve rolls his eyes and pulls away, but Billy pulls him back in for a kiss. Steve can’t complain.

“Okay,” Billy says after a few more minutes of not leaving. “He’s going to come up here looking for me soon.” He pulls away but stays close, just looking and biting his lip. “I don’t want anyone seeing you looking like this except for me.” He wipes some spit from the corner of Steve’s mouth, which is probably his anyway. “I don’t know how I don’t have to punch guys out on the daily for getting too handsy with _you_ , babydoll. Look at your pretty mouth.”

Billy doesn’t touch his lips, which is just as well, because Steve probably would have sucked them into his mouth and then Phil _definitely_ would have come up looking for Billy.

Billy leans in and kisses him then, even sweeter than before. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.”

xxx

Billy is in the kitchen fucking _humming_ , swishing his hips back and forth as he stands at the stovetop. He’s making goddamn oatmeal like he’s not absolutely devastating Steve with the small curls around his ears and the tee shirt he’s wearing with his boxers, looking comfortable in his own skin for the first time since he fucking _died_.

Steve can’t help coming up to kiss his neck, his cheek, take a drink from his glass of orange juice and brush some of his hair behind his ear to kiss there, too. Steve loves him, loves him, loves him, and if he doesn’t say it soon, he might explode with it.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says. He wraps his arms around Billy’s waist and lets him sway the two of them side to side as he pokes at his oats. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Yeah.” Billy turns his face so Steve can kiss him on the mouth. “I don’t know. Just feeling good today.”

“You got plans?”

“Have _you_ got plans,” Billy says instead. He turns in Steve’s arms and loops his own around Steve’s neck. He plays with the hair at Steve’s nape. “I want you to come to the gym with me today. See what we’ve been working on.”

He looks nervous as he says it, like Steve’s going to turn him down. God, Steve wants to freeze this moment, keep it breathing forever so Billy’s always this happy. There’s so much of the old Billy underneath the new: in how he holds himself, the way his eyes dance, the way he tips his head back a little to smile. But the look in his eyes is kinder and the way his shoulders are up and back is ease, not fight, and Steve _loves him_.

“Yeah,” Steve says, feeling a little dizzy. “That sounds awesome.”

Billy kisses him. When he pulls back, he looks almost shy.

“Do you think,” he starts, then drops his eyes down, like he’s not even sure if he should be asking. “Do you think I have a future? Like, is this… is there ever going to be a time where I’m not thinking about it coming back for me?”

Steve can’t help the smile that breaks out across his face and Billy mirrors it immediately. “I don’t know if any of us are ever going to stop looking over our shoulders, but -- yeah. Yeah, I think you’ve got a lot ahead of you.”

Billy pulls his arms tighter around Steve’s neck so he can kiss his cheek, his ear. Steve reaches behind Billy to stir the oatmeal. 

“Can I tell you something?” Billy asks.

“What’s up?”

Billy pulls back, his arms dropping. His eyes dart between Steve’s and then he’s pulling out of the circle of his arms, waving at Steve to stay, and going into the bedroom. Steve drinks the rest of Billy’s orange juice and fills it up again.

Billy hesitates at the door, his arms full of big white envelopes, and then he’s dropping them on the table and spreading them out. Steve clicks the gas off on the stove and wanders over to stand next to Billy.

“Holy shit,” he breathes once he realizes what they are.

It’s letters from colleges. The _big_ ones, the ones that he’s sure piled up in Nancy’s mailbox, the ones he never got, not even to UIC because his dad called in a _favor_. It’s fucking -- it’s University of Chicago, Northwestern, Northeastern Illinois, UIC, DePaul, Loyola, Mundelein, Illinois Institute of Technology, Lewis, Purdue. Steve blinks and touches the corner of one of them.

“Holy _shit_. Sweetheart.” He wraps an arm around Billy’s waist and kisses his cheek, turns his blushing face so he can kiss him on the mouth too.

“I didn’t want to tell you unless I got in,” Billy says quietly. He’s pink and still nervous but looks pleased. “I didn’t know if I would and I didn’t -- didn’t want to, like, make a big deal out of it if I didn’t. Or if I did.”

“ _Make a big deal out of_ \--” Steve goes with the impulse and grabs Billy around the ass to boost him up, swing him around the kitchen because _Billy got in_ , Billy got in to college and _they’re all in Chicago_ , and that feels big in so many different ways. Billy laughs, his arms and legs coming up to wrap around Steve, and then his hand stretches out to stop them from crashing straight into the wall when Steve realizes that Billy is heavier, healthier, and Steve isn’t as strong as he used to be. Billy eases down out of his grip and Steve kisses him again. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you. Holy shit. Holy _shit_.”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna go,” Billy starts, but Steve shakes his head and talks over him.

“You’re going, you’re _going_ , fucking hell, Billy, _look at you_.” He goes back to the table and picks them up at random, flipping through the acceptance packets, not really knowing what he’s looking at but doing it anyway because this is. _This is._

It feels an awful lot like Billy choosing him.

“I was thinking about engineering.” Billy comes to stand next to him and Steve can’t not touch him, so he wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him against his side. “I’ve been visiting some of the schools to look around. Phil’s brother is in mechanical at Northwestern and showed me his lab. It’s fucking amazing, Steve. I could build things. I could _make_ things, things that could _actually help people_.”

Steve goes for the purple one next and looks through it. _Dear Mr. Johnson,_ it says _. The admissions committee was impressed with your academic excellence and your inspiring personal statement. As such, we would like to offer you a place in the fall 1987 class in the Mechanical Engineering department at the School of Engineering at Northwestern University_.

“Ogilvie is only a twenty-minute walk,” Billy says quietly. He’s leaning hard against Steve, his cheek pressed against Steve’s shoulder, hiding his face because he’s fucking _embarrassed_. “And then I can take the UP-N up to Evanston. That’s, like, a thirty-minute train ride. It could work.”

“The lease is up in August,” Steve says, trying to crane his neck down to look at Billy’s face. “We could go more north. So it’s a shorter walk.”

“The three of us.”

“Yeah.”

Steve opens his mouth to say it, is _milliseconds_ from it coming out of his mouth, but there’s the scrape of a key in the lock and Robin comes in, looking sleepy and rumpled. She’s been working overnights at a gas station since the semester ended.

“Hey, doofus,” she says tiredly, trudging into the kitchen. “Hey, Fonz.”

“Ayy,” Billy says, even though he’s wrapped around Steve, trying to hide in plain sight.

“How do you know she wasn’t talking to me?” Steve asks, jostling him a little bit. He runs a hand through his own hair to punctuate it.

“Jean Jacket Whore,” Billy says under his breath, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Whoa.” Robin wanders over to the table from where she’d been poking around in the fridge. She ends up with a pack of cheddar slices and leans heavily against Steve’s other side as she peels a slice out of the bag. “Did Steve grow a brain?”

Steve pinches her side and she jerks away from him, groaning sadly.

“Billy’s gonna be an engineer,” Steve says. Billy makes a little noise like he’s surprised and Robin leans forward to look at him around Steve.

“Holy shit,” she says. “ _Billy_.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Billy says, untangling himself from Steve, but his voice is tight and he rubs his eye with the back of his hand. “I already got into UCSF.”

“Not that big of a deal,” Steve says. He pulls Billy against him again, holding him tight enough that Billy gives in and wraps his arms around his waist. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers and kisses his ear. 

Robin goes to bed a little while later and Steve sits and flips through the same four pages of the material in Northwestern’s envelope while Billy eats his oatmeal. A lot of it is boring logistical stuff, but his stomach keeps twisting whenever he sees _we would like to offer you a place_ and _Evanston, IL 60208._

“Cut it out,” Billy says. “You don’t need to memorize it, jeez.”

Steve leans back in his chair, hands over his face. He’s overwhelmed. Billy did something for himself because he wanted to. Because he _could_. He has friends and hobbies and he’s _going to college_ and he’s doing it all in Chicago. _Where Steve lives_.

xxx

As soon as Steve sits down to tie his gym shoes, Billy is out the door and down the stairs. 

“Hey!” Steve shouts. Billy must be going slow because he’s not very far by the time Steve makes it outside. “Hargrove!” he yells. Billy looks over his shoulder, fucking _smiles_ , and books it.

Steve gets a stitch in his side half a mile in and has to stop and lean on a tree. Billy jogs back, looking smug, his cheeks pink from the exertion.

“Thought I was,” Steve pants, his lungs stinging, “going with -- you t-- _fuck_ I’m out of -- shape.”

Billy pats him hard on the back and his knees almost buckle. “Clearly I’m not working you hard enough,” he says, grinning wildly. Steve slaps him with the back of his hand, aiming for the dick but hitting the stomach instead. “Hey, keep your hands to yourself, amigo, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Billy looks increasingly more nervous the closer they get to the gym, and when they round the corner onto South Canal, he side-steps off the sidewalk into the doorway of the Maxwell. Billy pokes Steve in the chest and looks like he’s puffing himself up, like he’s about to try and intimidate the shit out of Steve.

“If you say this is queer, I’m going to beat you down,” he says. His ears are bright red. Steve touches his waist on the non-sidewalk side so nobody passing will see and Billy shoves his hand away. It just makes him grin. “Stop fucking smiling, I’m serious.”

“You’re cute,” Steve says and means it.

“Promise me.”

“Only if you promise you’ll queerly beat me down later.” Billy looks straight at him for a solid thirty seconds before he bursts out laughing. 

“I fucking hate you.” He shoves Steve back out into the foot traffic and they continue on. “Seriously, though,” he says in an undertone. “Like. You fucking call me a fairy or a fucking fruitcake and I beat your face in. Between _this_ and this morning, this day has already been too fucking gay.”

Billy grabs the door handle to the building on the left, but Steve jerks forward to shove it closed. Billy looks back at him, confused.

“I would never do that,” he says quietly. Billy blinks a few times, takes a deep breath, and nods.

The front lobby is a reception desk and a door. The woman behind the desk glances up at them, says, “Hi, Billy!”, and presses a button behind her desk to make the doors crawl open.

“Thanks, Veronica,” he says and throws his arm around Steve’s shoulders to lead him down the hall. It’s lined with more doors, all marked; at the end is a large set of double doors. Through the narrow windows, Steve can see someone cartwheeling.

“This is so dramatic,” Steve says. “If you kill me, Dustin is going to summon my ghost just to say ‘told ya so’.”

Billy laughs and pulls Steve over to kiss his temple before releasing him to push open the door.

The gym is almost all blue padding or trampoline flooring. There are rings hanging from the ceiling and monkey bars and balance beams, and Steve doesn’t know what anything is, but he thinks it’s fucking incredible already, because Billy brought him here and Billy got into college and _Billy is staying in Chicago_. Billy leads him along the wall towards the locker rooms, head down so he doesn’t have to look at Steve’s reaction.

“Billy!” A tall redheaded girl waves from where she’s standing on top of a stack of large blue blocks. Billy stops and watches her somersault off, landing on the pads below with her arms above her head. “I already saw Seb and Phil. Are you guys practicing today? I’m around if you need a spotter.”

“Thanks, Wanda. Hey, this is my buddy, Steve. Steve, this is Wanda. She runs the place.”

Wanda rolls her eyes. “That’s a cliched introductory line and you know it, Johnson. Steve, nice to meet you. I’m one of the advanced students who helps teach Billy’s class.”

“My condolences,” Steve says. “I’m sure this guy’s a nightmare to try and domesticate.” Wanda laughs and Billy digs his elbow into Steve’s side.

“We’re gonna go get changed,” Billy says. “See you in a few?”

“I didn’t bring any gym clothes,” Steve says as Billy continues towards the locker rooms. “Honestly, I was just planning on watching you.”

“I got you some stuff.” Billy shoulders into the men’s room and leads Steve to the lockers, where he spins a combination into one of the locks. When he unzips the duffle bag, he pulls out a pair of tight black shorts and a tank, which he puts down on the bench in front of Steve.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Steve asks, sitting down on the bench to untie his Converse.

“What do you mean I won’t look at you,” Billy says, still not looking at Steve, and pulls his sweatshirt over his head to not look at Steve some more.

“I’m not going to give you shit about it.” Billy pulls on his tank top and only then does he look at Steve, mostly through his eyelashes. “This is fucking cool.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Uh, there’s, like, eight trampolines out there. I don’t need to know what’s going on as long as I can fucking jump on one.” Billy laughs and visibly loosens up. He sits and unabashedly watches Steve squeeze into his shorts. “I think these might be a little tight.”

“Gotta keep all your bits in one place if you’re jumping around,” Billy says.

When Steve’s done getting dressed, he returns the favor by ogling at the insides of Billy’s thighs while he stretches out his hamstring, almost absolutely just to get Steve looking. “Why aren’t you wearing tight shorts?” he asks, suddenly realizing just how much of Billy’s inner thigh he can see.

Billy just grins, stuffs his duffel into the locker, and starts walking backwards towards the gym. “I can’t look at my own ass,” he says, and darts through the door. Steve chases him down the hall, out across the floor mats, and straight into a pit of foam blocks. It’s deep enough that Steve feels all right struggling over to Billy, tucking his hand around the back of Billy’s neck, and kissing him on the mouth.

“Just a pointer,” Billy says against his mouth. “It’s kind of distracting when you’re trying to jump on a trampoline and you suddenly pop a boner.”

“I stopped listening at trampoline,” Steve says. He starts to wade back to the side so he can pull himself up and out.

“That was, like, the entire sentence,” Billy calls.

There’s no doubt that Billy is in his element here. His arms are out for everyone to see and when he does a handstand on the balance beam above the trampoline, his shirt falls down to reveal the vague outline of developing abs below his kill scar and he doesn’t seem in any hurry to cover it up again. He does all sorts of flips and twists on the trampoline and when he bounces back to his feet, his cheeks have that happy flush again.

“Front somersault’s looking tight, Billy,” someone yells from the other end of the gym.

“Thanks, Seb!” he shouts back. “Get over here, you French fuck. I need a spotter.” A tall Black man drops off one of the higher sets of monkey bars and jogs over. “Seb, this is my buddy Steve.”

“Ahh,” Seb says in a way that makes Steve blush a little. “The roommate. Nice to meet you, Steve.”

“Shut your ass and spot him,” Billy says. He moves off to the side of the safety pad of Steve’s trampoline to stand next to Seb. “I’m never going to hear the end of it if he doesn’t get to do a backflip before we leave.”

“Steve, we’re gonna be getting nice and cozy.” Seb claps his hands together a few times so some of the chalk dust on his hands falls to the floor. “You’re almost definitely going to have a big, white handprint on your ass. Just letting you know.”

“Pretty boy like him’s gonna have more than just one, c’mon, Seb.” Billy smiles and Steve exchanges a fond but exasperated look with Seb.

“I don’t know how you put up with him all the time,” Seb says in a stage whisper. “If we were roommates, he would have died already.”

“Been there, done that,” Billy says. He shoots a wink over to Steve. “Visited hell, gave the Devil a blowjob, and here I am.”

Seb talks him through the basic mechanics of backflipping and does a few on an adjacent trampoline to demonstrate. When he comes back over to Steve, he goes down on one knee and braces one hand on Steve’s lower back and the other just above his knee. They go through the motions a few times and Steve only knees himself in the face twice before he gets something that at least sort of feels like a backflip. It’s fucking cool and only gets better when he glances over to Billy and sees the soft smile on his face.

Billy shows him around the rest of the gym, walking him through a slowed-down version of what he does. He vaults over a pommel horse and holds himself up on some of the tall rings and challenges Steve to pull-ups on the uneven bars and Steve has an increasingly difficult time watching Billy throw around his own weight without drooling. He keeps calling the uneven bars the monkey bars, too, which makes Billy wrinkle his nose and Steve’s hands are so sweaty, even with the chalk, that he falls off.

Steve loses track of time quickly as they move through the stations. Billy has already bought four water bottles from the vending machine between the two of them, but Steve still feels like this is the best workout he’s had -- probably ever, honestly, because the coach in high school was sort of shit. Billy is as persistent as ever though so when Steve decides it’s time to collapse onto the pads and starfish to air out all of his joint crevices, Billy comes to stand over Steve’s head so Steve can see straight up his shorts and how sweat-damp his strap is.

“Phil,” he calls over to the trampolines. Steve’s too tired to lift his head to glare at Phil, so he settles for sending some bad juju with his mind. “Where’s Carly at?”

“She was doing something with Wanda last time I saw her.”

Billy cups his hands over his mouth and the movement drips sweat down onto Steve’s face and Steve has to work _really_ hard not to listen to his lizard brain and come in his pants right there. Part of him wonders how he got from Nancy and her pastel cardigans to here.

“Paging Ms. Chen,” he yells, his voice amplified over the gym. Most of the people must be used to this because they ignore him. “Cleanup on aisle get your ass over here.” Then he says to Steve, “That’s Phil’s girlfriend. She and I have been doing some cool shit.” He glances down at Steve and grins like a fucking sadist. “You a little wet down there, pretty boy?”’

“Paging Mr. Johnson,” a woman’s voice shouts back. “Go shove it up your ass.” She comes anyway though. Steve tips his head back to watch her fixing her ponytail on her way over. “Oooh, and this must be Steve.”

Billy, blushing, steps away from Steve so he can clamber to his feet.

“Shut up, let’s show him what we’ve been doing.”

She ignores him and smiles at Steve. “Pleasure to finally meet you,” she says. “We were starting to think Billy had an imaginary boyfriend or something.”

“You want me to pull that fucking plait out of your hair, Carly?” Billy hisses. Steve is trying not to show how pleased he is that everyone seems to know who he is just on sight. That everyone seems to know _what they are_. His brain keeps _boyfriend_ on a loop.

“You knowing the word _plait_ isn’t helping your case, stud.” She raps a knuckle against his chest and starts climbing up to the balance beam. Billy mumbles something like _soh-ree_ and clambers up after her.

Steve isn’t really quite sure what’s going on, but it looks like choreographed sparring in slow-motion. Carly dodges a roundhouse kick from Billy by easing into a backbend. She kicks her legs up over her and lands on her feet. Billy gets his arms under himself and swings his legs around and around, shifting from hand to hand while Carly punches at the air where his legs just were.

When they’re done, they bow to each other and do a handstand so they’re back to back. Steve claps as they lower themselves off the high pads and walk back to where he’s standing. Phil heads in their direction too.

“It’s for this dumb recital thing you have to do to graduate from the beginner’s class,” Billy says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Once we figure it out, it’ll obviously be sped up to, like, normal speed or whatever. If we go faster than that, one of us ends up with a foot in the face.”

“You can be proud of yourself, you know,” Carly says. “Even for just a second.”

“Hear, hear,” Steve says.

“I second -- third that one. Buck up, Bill.” Phil hits Billy on the shoulder while he passes on his way to wrap an arm around Carly. “Looking better every day, you two.”

“We’re working on it,” Carly sighs. “Well, _I’m_ proud of you, Billy. You couldn’t even do a handstand when you started because your back was all fucked up.”

Phil makes a noise and stretches out his arms to crack his entwined fingers, like it was all his doing. Steve hates him so much.

“Yeah, we get it, Chiro-man,” Carly says, rolling her eyes. “Well, we’re gonna head home, because _someone_ lost a bet and has to clean the whole apartment.”

“It was both of us,” Phil says. “It was -- both of us, it was a bet with her mom.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve! See you at the recital.”

“One last jump on the trampoline?” Billy says as they walk away.

“Only if you spot me,” Steve says, grinning.

They don’t talk much on the walk back to the apartment. Steve feels bone-deep tired and is glad they showered at the gym because he’s not sure he can stand up long enough to do it once they get home.

“Sorry about them,” Billy says quietly. Steve bumps their knuckles together.

“I don’t mind.”

When he looks at Billy from the corner of his eye, Billy is looking away from him, out over the traffic, trying to hide his smile.

xxx

Steve wakes up around two to the sound of breaking glass. He sits bolt upright, legs tangled in the sheets, and only realizes when he stumbles out of bed to struggle into a pair of boxers that the bed is empty. His nail bat is sitting in the corner next to his dresser and he grabs it as quietly as he can before easing open the bedroom door and stepping out into the hallway. 

It takes him a few hard blinks before the sleep-crust starts to slip away and he realizes just how ridiculous he’s going to look if he dies: Daffy Duck underwear, Billy’s dried cum on his stomach because he was too tired to do anything about it before falling asleep, and a bat that no sane person would have in their house.

Then he hears the crying.

The apartment is dark, but there’s just enough light filtering in through the living room window from the streetlight outside to see the outline of someone sitting on the floor in the corner of the living room between the couch and the wall

“Billy?” he whispers. He runs his hand up and down the wall next to him until he hits the light switch; Billy visibly startles when it clicks on. The table lamp is shattered on the floor like Billy had knocked it off the table in his haste getting into the living room. Steve leans his bat up against the wall and goes over to him as carefully as possible, doing his best to avoid the broken glass. “Hey, Billy.”

Billy flinches hard and hides his face like Steve just hit him. Steve takes a full step back and drops to his knees, then waits until Billy, trembling, looks up. He looks like hell.

“No, no, no,” he sobs. “You need to get out, Steve, get _out_. It knows I’m here. It’s coming. It knows. I’m so fucking stupid. So fucking stupid.”

Steve moves a little closer, reaching out for Billy’s arm. Billy jerks away again, banging his elbow hard into the wall. He doesn’t even seem to notice and Steve doesn’t know if he’s still asleep or in some sort of delusion. 

“What happened?” Steve asks.

“It’s coming,” he says again, rocking back and forth. He wraps one arm around his knees and the other up over his head. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” he whispers, over and over. “ _I’m so fucking stupid. I’m so, so sorry._ ”

“ _Hey._ Billy, nothing’s coming. Remember? We got you out. You’re safe now.” Steve’s heart pounds a little harder at the idea of it still being out there. None of them actually _know_ it’s over. The government knows where they live, but that doesn’t mean shit.

“You should have fucking killed me,” Billy yells, head rearing up, vein in his forehead popping. His hair is soaked with sweat. “Why did you make me live with this inside of me?”

Steve’s mouth goes dry. 

“I can’t,” Billy says, quieter. His fingers scrabble against the kill scar and Steve can’t think of what he’s supposed to fucking do. “Steve, please, _please_ , I need it to stop, _please_. It hurts, it hurts so bad, _please, Steve_.”

He hears Robin come out of her room behind him and glances over at her stricken face as it peeks through the doorway. “Get me some water,” he says. “Now. Quick.” When she presses the glass into his hand, he tells her, “Go in your room, don’t come out,” his eyes never leaving Billy.

He waits until he hears Robin’s bedroom door close before he goes up on his knees and inches forward. Billy raises his head to look at Steve with dark, scared eyes. He won’t take the glass, so Steve keeps coming closer.

“Billy,” he says quietly. “I need you to drink. Just a little, come on.” Billy whimpers and Steve is able to coax his head up enough to get the rim of the cup against Billy’s mouth before Billy turns his face.

“No,” he keeps saying, voice quiet and wet. Steve keeps trying, going in and tapping Billy’s bottom lip in brief intervals, soft but persistent. Eventually, he lets Steve tip some water into his mouth. Then some more, and some more, and only a little dribbles down his chin. By the time the glass is empty, Billy has stopped crying, but is still hiccupping and shaking, his teeth audibly clattering together. 

“Come back to bed,” Steve whispers. Billy looks at him with red eyes and unfurls as slowly as possible. He doesn’t accept Steve’s hand up, but crawls a little ways forward to push himself up using the coffee table. His legs are unsteady so Steve hovers behind him as he drags his feet down the hallway. Once he’s in the bedroom, he just stands there like he can’t remember how he got here. Steve guides him to the bed and flicks on the lamp so there’s enough light to cut out most of the shadows. 

Billy lays down and Steve goes to the dresser for a shirt and underwear. He realizes while he’s digging through one of Billy’s drawers that he’s crying and hastily wipes at his face. When he turns around, Billy is staring at the ceiling, trembling. He looks so small and Steve’s stomach lurches when he thinks of how much joy seeing Billy like this would have brought him back in high school.

Steve slowly throws one knee over Billy’s legs so he can drag his underwear up. Billy flinches when Steve’s fingers brush his skin and Steve knows somewhere deep down that he’s going to see all of this again in his nightmares someday. He half-straddles Billy’s legs, hovering above them, as he coaxes him into a sitting position so he can slip a shirt on, too.

Steve grabs a water glass from the bedside table and brings it into the bathroom to refill. He wants to take a second to breathe, but he knows what it’s like when you’re alone and the darkness starts to creep in, so he goes back across the hall and sits at Billy’s feet while he drinks.

“You okay?” Steve asks quietly when the glass is empty several minutes later.

“Yeah.” Billy’s voice is rough, but his eyes are clearer. “Sorry.”

“Happens.” He edges onto the bed carefully, sticking to the wall as much as possible. “Can I touch you?” Steve whispers when he’s laying down. Billy nods and Steve pulls him over until his back is against Steve’s chest. After a moment, Billy turns over to press his face into Steve’s chest. “Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Steve forces himself to stay awake even when Billy’s breath begins to even out. He tries to think of what he wants to do when they’re in Milwaukee, because he hasn’t even started thinking about it, but tears keep running down his face. He focuses on deep breaths instead. When his alarm clock reads 4:15 am, he grips Billy a little closer and closes his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADMISSIONS CYCLE WHO?
> 
> and yes billy's new name is billy dick johnson
> 
> I have a short paper due Thursday so there might be a delay in getting chapters 6 and 7 out. Also, I'm already planning out some additional stories in this 'verse... feel free to hit me up here or on hectordelavega (tumblr) with suggestions.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know we have to go to the fucking castle across the street, right?” Billy says.
> 
> “Oh, obviously.”
> 
> “Fuckin’ hicks have a cheese castle, man. If you ever tell anyone I stepped foot in that Midwestern fucking nightmare, I’ll -- what’s that stupid shit you say -- your ass is grass, Harrington.”
> 
> ////read author's note before reading////

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is largely sweet but please note that:
> 
> *****THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS BRIEF VERBAL DESCRIPTION OF THE PAST RAPE OF A MINOR (6yrs prior to story). READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION AND PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.****
> 
> TW/CW: past rape of a minor (not incest), semi-public sex, blowjob, anal sex, period-typical homophobic language (Billy calling himself f*g mostly), mentions of canonical child abuse (Neil Hargrove), basically Neil non-incestuously sexually abusing Billy by making him seek out sex with women to avoid getting beat up

“Would you turn the air conditioner off? You’re gonna freeze my ass off.”

“It’s sixty degrees,” Steve laughs, but does it anyway. “If you put another Metallica cassette in, I swear to God, I’m going to shove it down your throat.”

“Oh, baby, is that supposed to be a threat?” Billy drawls. “I’d give you any excuse to make me choke on something.”

They stop for bratwurst just over the border and lean against the back of the beemer to eat their lunch in the sun. There are a few families trailing in and out of the Brat Stop, but nobody is close enough to hear them, not by far.

“You look so fucking hot right now,” Steve says in an undertone. Billy strolled out of the bedroom this morning in slacks and his nicest button-up and when Steve stood and gaped at him in the kitchen, he said, “You never see a guy dressed for a date before, Harrington? Thought you were a lady killer.”

“Don’t start shit you can’t finish, Harrington,” Billy says. He kicks the back of Steve’s knee until Steve steps away from the car, then whistles low and pushes his sunglasses down his nose so he can look at Steve’s ass. “You know I love your sweatpants, babydoll, but those dress pants are, like, clinging to every _single_ curve. Fucking pornographic.” He raises his voice, looking almost desperately around the parking lot. “Officer? Officer, please arrest this man for extremely decent exposure.”

Steve shoves him a bit and Billy laughs.

“I was thinking we could do the art museum,” Steve says. “I went when I was a kid and liked it, and Robin and Clara just went and said we should go. I don’t know, we can go somewhere else too.”

Billy kicks him lightly, aiming the toe of his shoe for the back of Steve’s knee again. He leaves a little scuff mark and Steve slaps at the fabric, trying to get rid of it. “Shut up,” he says, mouth full. “That sounds great.”

“You’re disgusting,” Steve says, even though he’s gotten riled up over worse. Billy makes a point to chew the rest of his mouthful as loudly and open-mouthed as possible. When he’s done, he blows a kiss to Steve. Steve flips him off.

“You know we have to go to the fucking castle across the street, right?” Billy says.

“Oh, obviously.”

“Fuckin’ hicks have a cheese castle, man. We’re gonna go and if you ever tell anyone I stepped _foot_ in that Midwestern fucking nightmare, I’ll -- what’s that stupid shit you say -- _your ass is grass_ , Harrington.”

Billy gets another round of bratwurst for both of them and a case of Sprecher IPA for Steve at the Mars Cheese Castle with his new credit card, absolutely flush with gag order money, then spends twenty minutes arguing with the guy who gives them free samples from behind the counter whether the beer salami is better than the summer sausage. He ends up with both and shakes the guy’s hand on their way out. At the last minute, Billy produces a foam cheese hat seemingly out of nowhere, plops it on Steve’s head, and stretches across the register to give the high schooler working there a five-dollar bill.

“Keep the change,” he says, winking.

In the car, he rolls down the window and splays his legs out as far as possible, getting comfortable, and starts slicing pieces of cheddar off a block with a switchblade to feed to Steve while he drives.

“You better wear that tonight when we fuck,” Billy says, tapping the hat with his knife. “Now that I’ve seen you in it, I’m not sure if I can get off without it.”

They take a five minute pit stop to pull off the highway so Steve can suck his dick, stomach pressed uncomfortable against the gear shift, while Billy hoots and hollers and acts like he’s fucking the cheese hat because he’s a fucking lunatic and an embarrassment to mankind, and Steve _fucking loves him_.

The blowjob mellows Billy out and he spends the rest of the drive half-dozing, slumped in the passenger seat, his hand resting over Steve’s on the gearshift. Steve pesters him for some gum or something to get the dick taste out of his mouth, but all Billy has to offer up is beer, cheese, and sausage, none of which sound like they’re going to make it any better. They stop at a Burger King along I-94 for milkshakes and fries and Billy spends the last thirty minutes of the ride feeding Steve fries, mostly aiming for up his nose instead of into his mouth and making it three times out of four.

When they pull into the parking lot of the museum, Billy snuffles himself awake and looks around. “There’s no place in the Midwest you can go without Lake fucking Michigan, is there?”

“I would say the majority of the Midwest is not on the water. It’s not like it follows you or something.”

Billy bares his teeth at Steve and tugs at his hair where it’s sticking out of the cheese hat. It’s a good reminder to take it off, god forbid anyone actually sees him wearing it, and he tilts the rearview mirror to make sure his hair looks good while Billy slides out of the car to stretch. Steve jumps when he bangs on the roof and looks at him through the back window.

“Looking good, babydoll,” he calls. “Come on, I gotta piss.”

When Steve gets out of the car, Billy throws an arm around his shoulders and, after checking that nobody is around to see, bites Steve’s earlobe. “No use getting it all in order when I’m just gonna mess it back up. ‘sides, I like the well-fucked Einstein look.”

The woman who sells them tickets coos over the two of them, actually reaching across to pinch at Steve’s cheek while Billy kisses the knuckles of her other hand. She’s the same age as half the teachers in Hawkins who ate this shit up. In her defense, the Hargrove charm along with how he’s styled his hair into soft baby curls is absolutely fucking devastating. For some reason, the realization that he’s _on a date_ with _Billy Hargrove_ washes over him, despite being the one who asked and despite having been doing whatever it is they’re doing for two months at this point. Still, it makes him feel a little dazed as he follows Billy into the men’s bathroom.

“Hold this,” Billy says, shoving the map into Steve’s hands so he can piss. He’s one of those assholes who gets the map and actually looks at it.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to flirt with other people when you’re on a date,” Steve says, amused. Billy looks over his shoulder and grins.

“You know what jealousy is? Passion. _Need_. Fire.” He zips up, kicks in the doors of both stalls to make sure nobody’s inside, and grabs Steve’s face with both hands to kiss him. It’s a deep, gasping sort of kiss, completely at odds with the way his thumbs sweep gently along Steve’s cheekbones right below his eyes. “I was gonna say we could mess around in one of those stalls, but you didn’t bring your cheese hat.”

“This was a long con, wasn’t it?” Steve asks, reveling in the way Billy holds him around the waist like Steve used to hold Nancy and Gia and all of the other girls who came before them. “You pretended you were in it for my ass, but really, you were just holding out for the day there was a giant foam cheese on my head.”

Billy _tsks_ and snaps his fingers like he’s disappointed. “Well, darn. You got my number. Guess we’re gonna actually have to look at paintings now, huh?” He kisses Steve one more time, soft and sweet, one of his hands cradling the back of Steve’s head.

Back in the lobby, Billy unfolds the map so they both can see it. 

“All right, what’s the flavor of the day? You feeling European, which is probably a bunch of tits and ugly baby Jesuses; or furniture, in case you’ve never been inside a house before; or Oriental, which I think is a bunch of guys with pointy beards. Oh, actually, that’s Egypt, sorry.”

Steve hasn’t looked away from Billy the entire time he’s been talking. When Steve doesn’t answer, Billy glances over at him and blushes pink across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. 

“Hi,” Steve says quietly. Billy laughs, ducking his head.

“Hey,” he says, his ears reddening. “Look, I don’t know if it’s just me, but I’m really fucking nervous and I don’t know why because I had my fingers in your ass last night while you sucked my dick, and I feel like that’s more, you know, old women clutching pearls than us walking around an art museum. God, stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what,” Steve says, grinning.

“I don’t know, like _that_.” He folds up the map and says, “Okay, European first,” and leads them into the Oriental collection. 

Steve doesn’t know shit about art, doesn’t know how to tell whether someone’s a good painter or not, or if they used their colors correctly, or _why_ the weird-looking people or cats with weird human faces are good at all. Billy clearly knows at least _something_ but keeps skirting around it like he doesn’t want Steve to know. When they do finally wander into the European collection, they start a competition over who can find the weirdest part of each painting. 

As promised, there are a lot of tits and ugly baby Jesuses, and they argue over the plural of Jesus. Steve had gotten out of taking art history in high school by taking film studies instead, which was more boring than it had sounded during registration. Now, he kinda wishes he had some sort of knowledge that he could whip out to impress Billy, who keeps surprising Steve with his never-ending cultural knowledge. It’s impressive for a racist guy who wore denim-on-denim-on-denim and a feather earring and broke Steve’s nose.

Then there are a lot of ships and landscapes and they all look way too similar, the only variance he can identify being the color. He wanders along faster than in the other rooms since he doesn’t have to look quite as closely. It’s not until he’s moving onto war photographs that he realizes Billy isn’t with him anymore.

There’s an enclave of paintings that Steve overlooked entirely, a little exhibit full of paintings -- gouache, watercolor, and pencil, one of the placards says -- of horses. A few of them have people. All of them look like a mess, in Steve’s opinion.

Billy is standing in front of one of them. It’s a line of horses, some colored and some opaque, all with a little person on their backs. There’s no sky behind them, just the greenish grass below, and some of their bodies, Steve notices, fade the farther back they go so their hindquarters are just soft pencil scratches. He stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Billy and neither of them say anything for a while.

“Billy,” he says finally, softly. Billy inhales suddenly as if coming up from water and Steve realizes with a pang that Billy is crying. Steve touches his elbow. “Are you all right?”

Steve’s touch must shift something in him because he visibly shudders and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. When he emerges, his bottom eyelids are still a little red, but he otherwise looks more like himself. He turns his back on the painting and continues on into the war photographs.

They’re able to keep up a banter, albeit a little more watered down than usual, and neither of them mention the painting. Later, when they get back to the car, Billy settles into the seat, reaching out for Steve’s hand before it’s even on the gear shift.

“You seen _Spaceballs_ yet?” Billy asks, even though he knows that Steve hasn’t, because Steve never does anything without him or Robin and it only came out last week. “You paid for these tix; I’m paying for the movie.”

There’s a 4:30 showing at a theater down the street from the restaurant Steve picked out for dinner. Christopher said he and Wendy went there for their first getaway together and it was nice -- not too expensive, not overly romantic, but quiet and comfortable all the same. Steve buys boxes of candy for them to share while Billy gets the tickets, then they’re sliding into the back row. Steve stacks the boxes on the armrest and twists their fingers together where nobody can see, like they did at the concert.

“How am I supposed to eat these with one hand?” Billy asks, shaking one of the boxes. Steve watches him stick two boxes between his thighs, open them with his nail, and pour some of both in his mouth. He thinks, not for the first time, that high school Steve Harrington would have checked him into an asylum if he ever found out about any of this.

“What is wrong with you,” Steve says, watching Billy chew. “Those are the two worst candies on Earth.”

“Why’d you get them, then?” Billy shoots back, accidentally spitting a chunk of licorice onto Steve’s leg. He reaches for it with his free hand, pretending it’s too dark to see so he can grope Steve a little.

“I didn’t think you were dumb enough to eat those,” Steve says once Billy’s hands are back in his own lap. The real answer is that he knows Billy likes them, but he needs to maintain at least a little bit of his dignity. He reaches out and tugs at his necklace a bit and Billy looks over at him, smiling.

“I’d kiss you right now,” Billy says as quietly as he can, the entire inside of his mouth black, “but I think you would literally evict me from the apartment.”

“You’re right. This is the one thing I was waiting for, the excuse I needed to kick you out.” Steve makes like he’s going to stand up and walk out and Billy pulls him back into his seat, their hands still clutched together. Steve thinks about telling Billy to keep his mouth closed, but that would just guarantee the inevitable, so he gives in and leans forward for a brief kiss.

Unsurprisingly, Billy’s hand comes up to cup the back of Steve’s head and reel him back in for the sole purpose of trying to spit as much candy into his mouth as possible. Steve pokes him in the neck, lightly tries to flatten Billy’s dick with his fist, but eventually gives in. As soon as he goes still though, Billy stops. He really is all about the chase.

Halfway through the movie, Billy puts the candy on the armrest between them into his lap and leans into Steve a little bit more, his temple pressing into Steve’s shoulder. Steve wishes they could live like this every single day. Seeing Billy being goofy and relaxed, even after what happened at the art museum, makes Steve feel _good_ , like he actually did something for once that helps someone else. Billy is letting go in a way he hasn’t before. Steve lightly scratches the nails of his free hand against Billy’s head and can feel the pleased sound he makes rumble against his shoulder.

“You show all the girls that good of a time?” Billy asks later, arms stretching above his head as the rest of the sparse audience starts to filter from their chairs out into the hall. “You didn’t even try to get a hand up my skirt.”

“I’m a classy guy,” Steve says. His shoulder and hand feel cold without Billy’s skin against him. “I like to end the night with a goodnight kiss. Strictly shoulders-up before that.”

Billy laughs. “Can’t wait to do it missionary with you.” He winks at Steve as they follow the last group of people into the hallway. “I got with this guy once, real freaky type. Gave me head while wearing a cheese hat.”

Steve elbows him in the side.

They stop at the car so Billy can shove the leftover candy in the glovebox, then head towards the restaurant. Steve, for all his weaknesses, is really good at remembering directions. Billy whistles low when they get inside and Steve blushes a little. It’s way fancier than he had anticipated. The maître d' takes them to the table Steve reserved them, which overlooks the parking lot and the lake beyond. There’s nobody at the tables surrounding them yet, but Steve’s sure there will be soon.

Billy’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees the prices on the menu. “Pretty boy, this is elbow-in-the-door food,” he says quietly, his eyes shining. “This is where you take your girl when you want to put it up her ass but don’t want her to feel degraded about it or think you’re a queer or something.”

“What are you trying to convince,” Steve starts, then leans back so the waiter can pour them each a glass of water and slide a basket of French bread onto the table. Billy immediately breaks a piece off, butters it, and hands it over to Steve, then gets one for himself. “What are you trying to convince a guy to do when you bring him here?”

Billy’s laugh comes out as a snort even though he was absolutely baiting the question, and he has to cough and take a drink of water so he doesn’t choke. “I got a gift for you in my bag, babydoll,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’ll give it to you later on tonight.”

“Is it your dick?” Steve chances and Billy laughs again, looking as pink and happy as he did when he took Steve to his gym.

Steve orders a glass of wine for himself and a club soda for Billy, and Billy orders them each a steak and a lobster, and foie gras to share. He winks at Steve as he passes the menu back to the waiter.

“My dad is going to see this on the credit card bill and lose his shit,” Steve says, mostly happy, already knowing he’s going to lie about going to Milwaukee in the first place. Better stop using it after the hotel so his dad thinks it got swiped.

“You can tell him I put your dick in the lobster shell and sucked it out like a mussel,” Billy whispers. Steve can feel himself go red, so he kicks Billy under the table.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Already swearing at me on the first date?” Billy tsks at him, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I like where this is going, baby.”

The waiter seats an elderly couple at the table behind them, which at least stems the worst of Billy’s comments. Steve just bought these slacks for interviews and isn’t really keen on ruining them.

“Okay,” Steve says, flicking breadcrumbs across the table at Billy. “I’m trying to think of some horrible first date questions to torture you with.”

Billy leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Gotta be honest, I haven’t gone on many dates recently. Might be a little rusty.”

“No demigirls or MaidFlayers out there in the woods?” Steve says. Billy gives him a small smile but doesn’t laugh, which is just as well, because Steve never really knows if he can joke about it anyway.

“Tell me about your family,” Billy says finally, making a sweeping gesture with both arms. “C’mon, tell me about Mommy and Daddy Harrington.”

“What a lame question” he says. He goes to step on Billy’s toes with his shoe but ends up with their ankles locked around each other instead. “Mom’s an alcoholic, Dad probably wishes he started a secret family somewhere else when he was still young and good-looking. They don’t stick around enough to know anything about me, or my life, so they roll into town, hang out with their friends, give me some money, and jet off again. They bought me a nice car for my sixteenth birthday because they decided our family trip to France was just going to be the two of them. Dad called in a favor at his alma mater, good ol’ UI of C, to get me a spot in the class of 1990, because poor Steve was traumatized by the fire that broke out while he was closing up at his shitty, minimum wage job.” Steve smiles at Billy, not even feeling that sour about any of it. Life is good for the first time, and he has access to their money and they never thought to ask for his address or phone number. “Okay, your turn. Uhh, favorite color. Go.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “You can ask me about my parents. I’m not going to have a meltdown.”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t want to know about your parents. I want to know your favorite color.”

Billy just shakes his head. “You’re a fuckin’ special one, Harrington. Blue.”

“Boooo,” Steve says. “Boring. Everyone’s favorite color is blue.”

“Are you telling me my favorite color isn’t allowed to be my favorite color?”

“No, you can have any favorite color you want, unless it’s fucking boring, which, in this case, it is.”

“All right,” Billy says. “How’s cerulean for ya?”

“I might have to veto that one, because you could literally just be saying sounds at me and I wouldn’t know.”

“You little fuck,” Billy says delightedly. Steve doesn’t ever remember seeing him smile so much, so openly, in such a short period of time. “Cerulean is the color of the sky, dickweed.”

“I think you’ll find,” says Steve, shifting his wine glass to the side so the waiter can load their table with the abhorrent amount of food Billy ordered, “that the sky is blue, so that answer is still invalid.”

After dinner, they drive back to the lakefront and sit there, watching the sailboats on the horizon. The sun is just barely starting to set, sending white streaks through the red-purple-blue above them. There are a few people walking along the lake too, but they’re in the distance, so Steve pulls Billy out of the car and they hold hands as they follow the trail.

“This has been fun,” Steve says. His butterflies are back. They’ve been getting more insistent the later in the day it becomes, maybe because they’ve both sort of unofficially agreed about what’s going to happen when they get back to the hotel. Maybe that’s what’s making him nervous. Maybe it’s how much he likes when Billy gets shy. 

“The night’s still young,” Billy says, grinning, but throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders and presses a kiss against his temple.

“Do you think we ever could’ve been friends in Hawkins?” Steve asks. “Like, do you think if things didn’t happen the way they did--”

“--if I didn’t _die,_ you don’t have to sugarcoat it, Princess--”

“--would you ever have done anything? About the…” The word _crush_ feels weird and wrong. You get crushes on girls, and girls get crushes on guys, and he has no idea what goes on between everyone else. He sort of distantly thought guys hooked up and maybe even stayed together because of lust and never really thought about all of the other parts. It feels so goddamn stupid in hindsight. He goes with, “the hard-on you got over my shorts?”

Billy laughs. “God, I don’t know. I think under the right circumstances and with the right substances, I definitely coulda tried something. Can’t say you wouldn’t have pushed me away though.”

“Under the right circumstances and the right substances, maybe I woulda let you.”

Billy looks over at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and leans over to kiss Steve on the mouth. These sweet kisses are fucking Steve up in so many different ways. 

They keep walking. The trail loops around the park and they follow it back to the parking lot, where they sit on the low wall between the asphalt and the scratchy bushes that separate them from the lake. Billy goes to the car to get the leftover candy because he apparently didn’t eat enough at dinner despite the four doggy bags in the car. He brings Steve a beer when he comes back and knocks the cap off on the edge of the wall.

“You can ask about it, you know.” Steve looks over at Billy, who is avoiding his eyes by throwing Skittles into the dark bushes.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve says. “I’ve been wondering all day about how you get your hair to do that.” He reaches out and plucks at one of the curls and Billy slaps his hands away.

“Fuckin’ asswipe,” Billy says.

“All right. Was it, like. About your mom? Or did you fuck a horse or something? We do have a lot of those around Hawkins. I can get being a little bored with the girls there.”

Billy elbows him in the stomach and they wrestle half-heartedly. Once they’re done trying to push each other back onto the sidewalk or forward into the grass, Billy kicks his legs out over the wall and rests his head in Steve’s lap. Steve thumbs the pendant settled in the dip of his collarbone.

“So once upon a time, my dad knew I liked cock, even before I did.”

“Really?”

“My mom and all her bedtime story bullshit. I wanted to be in the garden instead of playing baseball with the other kids in the neighborhood. I liked reading. I remember when I was really little, maybe four or five, my dad was passed out on the couch and my mom was fuck knows where, and I got into her makeup. Put some lipstick on, found one of her beach hats and put it on with some of her high heels and this -- I was a kid, you know, I wore one of her shirts as a dress. I wanted to be kind and beautiful like her. That’s the first time my dad beat me so bad I blacked out.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. “None of that stuff makes you a queer.”

“Right?” Billy laughs, his eyes bright. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m a fag because my dad beat it _into me_ instead of beating it out, you know? How funny would that be. It’s not that I didn’t want to play baseball, I just wanted to hang out with my mom more. Anyway, so, when I was fourteen, he and his buddy Rick and I went to, I don’t know, somewhere along the coast. It was a guy’s weekend. We fished and watched football and drank beer in one of those weird themed motels that was like Hawaii or some shit. On our last night there, my dad got us all hookers. He and Rick sat in the kitchen playing cards and listening to her fuck herself on my dick in the next room. We both cried the whole time. Didn’t stop, though, not even when I begged. I wish I knew how much she got paid to fuck a kid. The most fucked up part was that after I came, she just held me, like she was my mom or something. Fucked a kid and was _sorry_ about it after. Thought she could make it up to me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Billy’s hand comes up to his chest to slide his fingers along Steve’s and together they grip the chain like a lifeline.

“That picture was hanging in that room. I stared at it the whole fucking time. I could tell you every last detail about it. I fucking named the horses and their jockeys. Tried to pretend I was there instead. It was all I could see when I closed my eyes. For _weeks_. Didn’t know the name of it, hadn’t seen it since. Until today.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathes. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

Billy shrugs. “You win some, you lose some. Anyway, I wasn’t fucking around when I said I don’t fuck people who don’t want it. Who can’t tell me yes without the angel and the devil over their shoulder. If I didn’t fuck the hooker, my dad woulda beaten the shit out of me. Woulda tore me a new asshole entirely, actually, since Rick was there. Place like Hawkins, with all the bored housewives and their fuckin’ wheat field bitch daughters, it’s really easy to put yourself out there. People talk. Almost fucked Wheeler’s mom, ‘cause Wheeler’s mom is friends with our neighbor, and it would’ve made it back to my dad and maybe he would’ve thought I’d changed. I mean, probably not, but there was always this piece of me that wanted to _convince_ him, like if he laid off, I could, I don’t know, breathe a little. Stay out a little later. Maybe he’d let me crash at a friend’s place or something if he didn’t think I was just going to fuck him. Figured fucking Mrs. Wheeler could make things a little easier on me.”

Steve runs a hand through the hair at the crown of his head and holds it there until Billy blinks and comes back into himself.

“I didn’t have as short of a leash in California. Damian and I could do what we wanted, unless Neil was in a shit mood that week. My dad’s got a lot of cop friends, though, so when I stopped bringing girls back to the house, they started following us around. Showed up at his apartment at night, banging on the door, lying through their fucking teeth about a warrant they had to search the house. When they arrested him, they charged him with possession. Damian’s older brother overdosed when Damian was a kid, and after that, nobody in the family even smoked weed. I swear to God, there was nothing in that house unless the cops put it there. And Max -- dating that Sinclair kid, you know?” He goes to run a hand through his hair only to find Steve’s fingers still tangled there. “Neil’s never, you know, gone after her before, but who knows? His goddamn chew toy’s dead, might as well take it up with his second fuckup kid. God, I bet he loves it, both of us bringing home Black guys.” He laughs and reaches up to tuck a thumb against Steve’s chin. “All I wanted to do was to stop her getting involved with him. From falling in -- but how the fuck do you say that to a kid that hates you? She doesn’t deserve that. She’s not a bad kid. And if Neil ever fucked with her, Susan would be out in a second, and I never would have -- I never woulda seen her again if we left things the way they were.”

Steve stares down at Billy for a while and Billy stares up at the sky, avoiding his gaze.

“When I was a kid, these assholes on the playground kept calling me a fag because I liked to sit and read instead of play dodgeball or whatever. I did the only thing I knew how to do and beat it out of them. And then I got older and bigger and started playing sports instead of reading, and if I heard that someone was saying some shit about me, I’d beat the shit out of them and then I’d finger their girlfriend. In the Camaro or her car, I wasn’t really picky. How are you gonna call the fag kid a fag when he’s licked your girl’s pussy more recently than you have? I figured out quick that if I started a fight, it’d get back to my dad. Always did. Those nights, he’d hand me a beer and we’d watch baseball together until he passed out. On the nights I lost the fight, I went out and hooked up with that kid’s girlfriend, or some other bitch hanging around the beach, and when I got home he’d smell my fingers and send me to my room. As long as I was fighting and fucking girls, he couldn’t care less. I went a whole three weeks once, just cruising. These two girls I screwed together came by the house one day when I was working on the Camaro and my dad was -- I don’t even know what he was doing, probably making sure I wasn’t looking at porn under my car or something. Anyway, he overheard them asking me for a repeat. There: living proof that his fag son could be fixed after all.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathes.

“That’s why I went after you so quick,” Billy says after a moment, voice soft. “I heard all about this King Steve who ruled the school -- heard it out in town, too, all these old bitches cooing about you. Who better to fuck up than the town’s wonder boy? I beat your ass, not only does it get back to my dad, but I get all of the chicks after you, too. It was a fucking perfect storm. When I saw you and realized we would be playing on the same fucking _team_ , I knew I had two options: to fuck you up, or to be your friend. I knew that being your friend would’ve fucked me up faster than anything. Neil would’ve _smelled_ it on me. I’m dumb shit when I’m into someone. I do some really dumb shit.”

“Like get a blowjob from a guy wearing a foam cheese hat?”

Billy laughs, back arching up a bit as he leans his head back. His eyes look lighter, less haunted, when they’re back on Steve. “Yeah, something like that. I get really stupid. If we were friends, my dad would’ve known _immediately_. He’d see you with your fucking pressed polos and vests and your hair and he’d see the stupid look on my face and _know_. It was me or you, man. You learn to pick yourself real quick.”

Steve’s fingers track their way around the shell of Billy’s ear. Billy reaches out for the other hand and holds it against his chest. 

“Sorry I busted your face in,” Billy says. “It was a shit night. I didn’t ever believe anyone in fucking Hawkins would be dealing with shit worse than Neil.”

Steve touches his bottom lip, just briefly, then smooths a hand over his forehead. “Not worse,” Steve says. “Just… different.”

“How did you not lose your fucking mind?” Billy asks. “At least I could hear Neil coming but, Jesus Christ, those monster things were -- when I hit it, when it -- you know. It was like something hit the side of my car, but I didn’t see shit, and then I felt like -- _hands_ almost, sort of _pushing_ me to go into this goddamn building. I just went, didn’t even think about it. That thing was inside me for so fucking long and the only time I ever saw it was when it killed me.”

“Talking about it,” Steve says quietly. “That’s how I haven’t lost my mind.”

“I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

Steve half-shrugs. “I don’t have, you know, that much of a story. I was where I wasn’t supposed to be, got sucked into a fight. That was my senior year, around when Nancy and I were having problems. Will Byers went missing and his mom _lost it_ , like, I walked into their fuckin’ house and she had these, these Christmas lights with letters painted under them so he could talk to her, wherever he was.”

“Creative.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it was fuckin’ psycho when I first saw it. And then -- yeah. We got Will back. Found out not long after that it was still inside him. You blew into town, were a fuckin’ thorn in my side. I got turned down to every single school I applied to, so getting my face beat in wasn’t, like, the worst thing that happened to me that year, between that and Nancy dumping me. I used myself as bait for the four-legged fuckers and went into the Upside Down to raze it, and then… Honestly, I don’t really know what the rest of them did. Henderson kept trying to tell me what the other weirdos told him, but it’s -- too much, you know? Me and Henderson just kept getting teamed up for the same shitty class project and he made me talk about it. He saw what I saw. Probably more than I saw, actually. Turned out I’m way more fucked up than I thought.”

“What do you think life is like for people who aren’t fucked?” Billy asks, squinting, the edges of his smile starting to come back a bit. It cuts through some of the heaviness. “What do they think about all day? They can just… walk around without looking over their shoulder?”

Steve laughs way louder than warranted but honestly, like, “Fuck those people. They can go fuck themselves.”

Billy sits up and swings his legs around so he and Steve are hip-to-hip, back-to-front. They’re so close together that their noses bump, but Billy just seems content on looking up at him through his eyelashes.

“I think we filled our therapy quotas for, like, three years, huh?” Billy says after a while. He clears his voice and adds, sounding more like himself, “You better have booked us a fucking California king, if you wanna fuck this California king.”

In the car, Billy unfurls the map and bites back a yawn. It’s not even ten yet but it feels like it’s past midnight. The hotel isn’t quite as nice as the restaurant, but as long as it has a shower and a bed that isn’t too small for two people to share, Steve doesn’t care. The small lobby is empty aside from the girl at reception, who’s falling asleep in her hand over some trashy magazine Carol probably still reads. When Steve clears his throat, she startles.

“Hi,” she says tiredly, giving Steve a smile that almost definitely would have worked a few months ago.

“Hey,” he says warmly. “Reservation for Harrington.”

She finds his name in the big book open in front of her on the counter and checks off a box next to it. “You requested a king,” she starts. Behind Steve, Billy goes _oh jesus christ_ and wanders off. “I’ll change it to two fulls,” she says, crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Just give me just one second.”

“No,” Steve ways, way too quickly. “He’s, uh. He’s my cousin. Don’t go through the trouble.”

“Rad,” she says. Steve exchanges cash for the key.

“Thanks,” he says, but she’s already reabsorbed in her magazine.

Billy is looking at a vending machine down one of the hallways, moving his hips a little like he’s dancing.

“How can you still be hungry,” Steve says. “Come on, we’re on the second floor.”

The room reminds Steve a little of Dustin’s house, all browns and greens, but it doesn’t smell like cat and there are chocolates _and_ mints on the pillows. The bed is the same size as his parents have. They got it so they could sleep in the same bed so their neighbors wouldn’t talk _but_ could still feel like they were sleeping separately. Billy shoulders past Steve, drops his bag into the chair, and throws himself into the center of the mattress.

“It’s no California king, but it’ll do.” Billy’s spread-eagle on the bed, eyes closed.

“Luxury,” Steve says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He puts his bag down next to Billy’s and half-climbs on top of him.

“Babe,” Billy says, shoving him off. “Come on, there’s enough space for both of us to, like, lay flat on our backs. I don’t even remember what that’s like. Your fucking twin is going to give me scoliosis.” Steve mirrors him and only has his eyes closed for a second before Billy is rolling over and plastering himself along Steve’s side. “Hi,” he says, nosing at Steve’s ear.

“Hi. I thought we were enjoying how big the bed is?”

“We already did that, Harrington. Keep up. Do you wanna make out then shower?”

“Can we make out like this, or do we have to do it from our own sides of the bed?”

“Can it, dweeb,” Billy says, one of his hands snaking up Steve’s shirt to touch his ribs carefully. “Don’t know why I put up with you.”

“It’s the cheese hat,” Steve says and barely catches Billy’s laugh in his mouth, it’s so big. Steve has always liked kissing like there’s nowhere else to be, like the world has stopped turning so the two of them could have a moment together. He likes to be teased; light brushes of fingers, a ghost of a kiss, suggestions that unfold slowly. Billy is unfairly good at it, which doesn’t come as a surprise, but Steve still can’t quite wrap his head around how quickly Billy got to know all his soft spots. He’s also really good at shifting them back into shallower waters when they start getting too hot and heavy.

“Let’s go shower,” Billy says. Steve doesn’t have any clue how much time has passed. “If we don’t now, we’re never gonna get up.”

“I know you’re right,” Steve says, delighting in the way Billy shivers at the feeling of Steve’s hot breath on his chin, “but that sounds like a fucking awful idea. Impossible, even.”

“I’ve risen from the dead,” Billy says. “Nothing is impossible.” When he gets up, Steve’s whole body runs cold and he makes a dejected sound that Billy laughs at.

Steve sits up on his elbows to watch Billy root around in his bag and remembers something. “Wait. You said you have a present for me.”

Billy freezes and turns red. “Right,” he says. “I, uh. Yeah.”

“Presents, presents,” Steve chants.

“Didn’t your mom teach you any manners?” Billy gripes, but he rubs the back of his neck and reaches back into the bag anyway. There’s the scratch of cardboard and Billy tosses it onto the bed near Steve without even turning around.

“What,” Steve says, then can’t say anything else because he’s laughing so hard. It’s a dildo: deep blue, ridged with a fucking _vein_ , and with a base on the bottom. Steve buys him a necklace and Billy’s idea of a romantic gift is a _dildo_ , and there cannot be a better Billy Hargrove gift on the face of the earth.

Billy trudges over and kneels up onto the bed so he can bracket Steve’s hips. He’s clearly embarrassed but Steve can’t stop giggling, even when Billy takes the dildo out of his hand.

“Sweetheart,” Steve says, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “I love it.”

Billy jabs him in the chest with it. “It’s for those nights when,” Billy mutters, “you know. I can’t.”

Steve digs the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and snap himself back into the moment. This is _sweet_. Billy bought him a dildo because he’s _thoughtful_. He’s the only motherfucker in the world who could get away with this.

“Thank you,” Steve says, his voice a little nasally from laughing so hard. He grabs it again when Billy goes to jab him. “I don’t mind, though. When you can’t.”

Billy shrugs. “I don’t know. We haven’t… you know, and I don’t want you to not get fucked if you wanna be just because my dick is broken.”

“Benched,” Steve says after a moment of weighing better words than broken. “It’s not broken, man. I could feel it being not-broken like five minutes ago. I’ll probably feel it being not-broken in another five.” He watches Billy mouth the word _benched_ , eyebrows drawing together.

“All right,” he says. “It’s for days when my dick gets _benched_ and I still can’t stop thinking about fucking you.”

“I told you, it’s not that big of a deal.” Billy smiles a little at the way Steve’s hips buck up, just a little.

“Let’s just call it a fail-safe,” Billy says quietly. Steve wonders if this is why they’ve been putting it off for so long.

“Shower,” Steve says. “Then we can talk as much as you want about all the ways you think you’re going to disappoint me with your dick.” He sits up and wraps an arm around Billy’s legs before he can move. Billy sinks down a little so he can sit back on his heels. “Thank you,” he says quietly when they’re somewhat face-to-face. Billy blushes and won’t look at him but presses in when Steve leans up to kiss him.

Things feel a little weird and tense after that, so Steve decides to give Billy the best of the top forties while they’re pressed together in the small shower, switching off on who stands beneath the water every minute or two. Steve uses all the spare room to throw his arms around, _really_ putting in all he has. But it makes Billy laugh and he even matches the dance moves Steve throws in for Pseudo Echo, mouthing along silently as Steve belts out _talk about it talk about it talk about it talk about it_ into the little bottle of hotel shampoo

“Fuckin’ dweeb,” Billy says. He reaches up to shift the shower head and spray Steve right in the face when he moves on to Whitney Houston.

xxx

Steve has a hard time slipping the condom over the head of his cock because his hands are shaking so much. Billy is already pink-cheeked and sort of hazy, even though he’s trying to give Steve a step-by-step of what to do. His hands are slick with Vaseline and he wipes them on the pillow shoved under Billy’s hips. 

“Do it,” Billy says. “Come on, come on, come _on_. Fucking get inside me, Harrington.” 

Steve tries his best to arrange himself in a way that’s going to be somewhat comfortable, but he doesn’t really know what to expect just yet, so it ends up just being him stalling. He _wants it_ , but there’s so much going through his head. Is he going to do it wrong. What if it’s not good and Billy doesn’t want him to try again. What if Billy doesn’t come because Steve is so bad at this.

When he finally gets a hand around his dick and lines it up, he freezes. “I’m not going to fit,” he says to Billy, who is sweating and swearing in front of him. At least he knew beforehand that he’d fit in a vagina, because everyone talked about it. He’s not particularly thick or long. Gia told him once that she’d never date a guy with a big dick because it always feels like she’s getting her cervix fucked, and Steve didn’t know what that meant so he just accepted the compliment.

“You are,” Billy says. He lifts his hips off the bed, straining for a moment, then collapses back down. “Just try, just try, come on. If it’s too big, I’ll tell you, but I think it’ll be just fucking right.”

Billy’s fingers end up over his and he tugs Steve’s dick a little so his tip goes in. Billy grunts, even though there’s no way he could have felt that. Steve presses in slowly, stopping when Billy tells him to, and only really _feels_ once he bottoms out. Billy’s mouth is slack, eyes squeezed closed. Steve can see the muscles working to keep him in check. But Billy feels _good_. Different and tighter but -- good. He tries to imagine even bringing up anal to Nancy and laughs a little. Billy’s breath catches on that light of a vibration.

Billy reaches out for him, eyes still closed, and tangles their fingers together. “Steve,” he says. “I need you to fuck me, but I also need you to know that I’m like a second away from blowing my load so just. _Go_ and then keep going, just a little bit lighter, after I come, all right?”

If any of Steve’s girlfriends got turned on by him this fast, maybe his self-esteem would be better. In all fairness, though, he also never spent as much time on foreplay as he does with Billy.

“Slow or fast?” Steve says. Billy is still holding his hand even though Steve’s fingers are sweaty and covered in Vaseline. 

“I don’t fucking _care_ ,” Billy says, voice breaking. He arches his back. “Just fucking go before I fucking _die_.” 

Steve starts slow and has to pause after one thrust to get his breath. Billy whines, thighs tightening around him. He goes shallow the first few times, then bottoms out again, and Billy shouts like he’s coming, but he isn’t, just trembling all over, so Steve pulls almost all the way out, fucks in a few shallow times, and then bottoms out.

Billy’s entire body clenches around him as he comes. It’s _so much_. He liked the feeling of Gia tensing up around him, but there is not a single nerve in his entire _body_ that isn’t responding 

“Fucking move,” Billy says, voice cracking as he rides out his orgasm. Steve starts moving again, the tightness even better with Billy clenched around him, and then somehow _better_ when he relaxes. Steve finds himself losing his rhythm a little, trying to chase after how much tighter Billy was. Billy clenches around him again and he comes so hard he has to brace himself with a hand on Billy’s stomach, slick with come, so he doesn’t lose his balance. Billy rocks back into him, wringing him out, until Steve figures out how to work his limbs and pulls out. He falls sort of backwards and to the side and somehow scares up the consciousness he needs to tie off the condom and drop it on the floor.

Billy uses one of the towels heaped on the floor to clean himself off, then knee-walks over to where Steve’s twitching so he can half-drape himself over him. 

“How was,” Steve starts and is able to bite off the sentence at _it_ , so at least he’s improving somewhere. Billy folds his arms over Steve’s chest and rests his chin on them.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” Billy says, and Steve’s stomach drops. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do to me that wouldn’t make me lose my fucking mind.”

Steve shoves at him a little. “Nobody’s good all the time.”

“No, but I -- you got me hard for so long, Harrington, and I’m still riding on that wave of getting to touch you. It’s every high school wet dream come to life for me. Even at the beginning, that first time, all that time we spent figuring it out -- even if it wasn’t, like, earth-shattering, you know, it still got me so wet seeing what I could do to you. How fucking wrecked you got over one finger. Your body’s so -- I don’t know, sensitive or something. You react to _everything_. I still get sex dreams about it.”

That makes Steve blush. It’s a lot, knowing how much Billy wanted him in high school. How much Billy wants him now. Part of him wishes he wasn’t so blind to it back then. Part of him doesn’t think Billy would have let Steve _see_ him, all those pieces his dad withered.

“Sorry,” Billy mumbles, the tips of his ears going pink. “That was kind of cheesy.”

“ _That_ was cheesy?” Steve says. His laugh makes Billy bounce a little on his chest. “I’ve never seen ‘you get me wet’ for Valentine’s Day.”

“You’re shopping at the wrong store, then. BJ Cards -- you know, ‘cause my name’s Billy Johnson now -- where we offer a great selection. You want anal? Oh, we got anal. ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, I want a finger in my ass, so I can come in you.’”

Steve shimmies his arm out from under Billy and claps while Billy does a few head-bows and _thank you_ s like he’s accepting an award.

“Got a cum-slut in your life? Check out our sweet Twinkie’s-shaped ‘I want your cream in my mouth’ or our donut-shaped ‘Glaze my face.’ For our classy ladies out there, a picture of a martini glass that says ‘let’s get dirty.’”

“Are you just coming up with these off the top of your head?”

Billy’s smile grows. “Where do you think I went to get you your bench day gift? No sex shop is complete without a selection of cheery greeting cards. Anyway, time for your rating. Would you give it five stars? Ten? Twenty?”

“What’s the scale?”

“Up to three.”

Steve shoves at Billy’s face. “I don't think my dick knows what just happened.”

“ _Right?_ ” Billy looks pleased, his face still a little pink, and Steve wonders at how much Billy blushes like this. “Bottoming isn’t, like, my favorite thing to do, but I figured being top would be a little easier to ease in to, you know? More control and whatever, I think it’s less overwhelming. I’d rather be top, but there’s -- I’m happy with bottom. If it’s, you know. The right person.” He cards a hand through Steve’s hair and Steve leans into his palm, sleepy and happy. “What do you think of eating the rest of the lobster and tiramisu and watching some shitty reruns on TV, and then passing out over on this nice, clean side of the bed.”

“Man after my own heart,” Steve says. He mirrors Billy’s smile and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

xxx

Getting up for breakfast turns into sleeping in, which turns into gazing at each other like it’s the first time they’re meeting -- well, if they had met differently --, which turns into enjoying how much room they have in the bed, which turns into -- well.

It’s sunny and warm when they finally make it out around noon. Steve feels stupid-happy, infatuated in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. He likes this side of Billy; the blushes, how he won’t hold Steve’s eye, the way he smiles like he’s not sure what the rules are. All of the girls Steve’s been with have acted like they knew more about sex and relationships and feelings than he ever would. Billy makes him feel like maybe they’re on the same page of _how do we do this_ and it feels a little less like drowning.

They drive around the city looking for an open market, not in any rush. When they find one, Billy drops some change in the meter and they walk across the street together, the backs of their hands brushing. It almost makes Steve’s skin crawl, having to rein it all back in. He wants to goof around, run through the market with Billy on his back just because he can, but even that sounds like too much. He wants to do everything he can to maintain the fragile bubble they’ve put up around themselves.

Billy buys sour Montmorency cherries from Door County at a booth run by a lady wearing a thick cat sweater despite the late June heat. Steve gets them brisket sandwiches from a little deli along the market street while Billy bites the cherries in half so he can suck out the pit and spit it on the ground, and his fingers stain bright red.

They wander in and out of shops, like they’re both trying not to let this end. Steve buys Robin a leather-bound notebook and Billy spends half an hour poking around a bookstore while Steve stands in the romance section and tries to find the dirtiest bits.

On their way back towards the car, they stop along with a small crowd to listen to a middle-aged woman tell the future with her crystal ball. Billy nudges Steve in the ribs, laughing a little bit, and a lady nearby looks startled and offended and glares over her shoulder in their direction. 

“Oh, but I see!” the psychic says, waving her finger around at all of them. The ball is sitting on a velvet-draped stool and she stands behind it, the tails of her long dress flickering in the light breeze. There’s a small paper sign taped to the front of the ball’s stand that says _$1 for your future!_ “There is a woman amongst us. Lo… Laur… Laura. Lauren! Lauren, I have a message for you.”

There’s some shuffling up at the front and a group of girls shove their friend forward. She glances back at them nervously.

“Fifty cents, my dear,” the psychic tells her, pointing to a small box at the foot of the stool with a slit on the top for cash. “I’m sure you have a long life ahead of you. It will not be hard to find your fortunes! Now, my sweet Lauren, how old are you?”

“Thirteen,” she says. Some of the women in the audience cluck adoringly and give her a small smattering of applause. “I’ll be fourteen in September.”

“Fourteen in September! Well, let’s look what we have ahead of us, shall we?” She closes her heavily mascaraed eyes and hovers her hands over the crystal ball. She mutters under her breath, incoherent enough that Lauren stumbles back a bit into the giggling group of her friends, made nervous by the idea that this could be real. Then, as suddenly as she started, the psychic stops. “High school begins. You – well! Your brother or sister went here before you, so you feel confident. Like you own the school. Keep that wave of confidence, my darling, and you may ride it all the way to Homecoming Queen.” She opens her eyes, delighted at their excited whispering.

“Deborah,” she calls out to the rest of the crowd. “Deborah, you are being called forth next.” When nobody steps forward, she furrows her brow. “Hmm. Deborah… Debra Winger. Debra, Debra -- _Emma_. An Emma? No? _An Officer and a Gentleman_ , let’s see, let’s see -- Paula?”

The lady who had been glaring at Billy and Steve hurries forward.

“Miss Monica, it’s so good to see you again,” she gushes. “We talked about a month ago. You told me my cat would die, so I started spending more and more time with Snickers, and wouldn’t you know it! Two weeks later, he passes. Thank you for warning me ahead of time so I could enjoy him a little longer.”

“Oh, I love to hear this. I love to hear this!”

Billy elbows Steve in the side again. “How much you wanna bet she smothered him to death? Physically, metaphorically, I’ll take either, Alex. I’m not above considering cat suicide.”

Steve snorts, then goes stock still, because the psychic straightens up and looks directly at the two of them. “Oh, shit,” he whispers; then, louder, “Sorry.”

She doesn’t look very caught up in the noise, though. Her head is tilted a little, her face scrunched together like it was when she was making up Lauren’s fortune.

“Oh, my dear boy, my darling boy.” She reaches a dramatic hand toward them. “It has not gone. It is with you, _inside you_ , every single day.”

Billy stiffens beside Steve, so Steve goes up on his toes a little to make sure he’s visible. “You’re talking to me, right?”

She shakes her head slowly, not even glancing over at him. “It is human,” she continues. “Let it in. Let it consume you. Let it _become_ you. But do not become it.” The cat lady is back to glaring daggers at the two of them for stealing her airtime and her dollar. 

She lets the words hang in the air for a moment before she continues, voice sharper.

“ _Je m’étais joué de son infirmité_ ,” she cries. “ _Par ma faute nous retournerions en exil, en esclavage_. I toyed with his weakness so. It was my fault we would wind up back in exile and enslavement.”

Billy’s sprinting away before Steve even fully processes anything that’s happening. “Thanks,” he says awkwardly, waving, and goes after Billy. There are only two blocks between them and the car and Billy keeps going. It takes another block and a half for Steve to catch up. He grabs Billy by the back of his shirt and they go down as one, Billy onto his ass and Steve onto his elbow.

“She’s full of shit,” Steve pants. Billy tries stumbling to his feet and Steve pulls him down again. “You saw, she told that fucking kid she was going to be prom queen. That’s not a fucking prediction. She told that lady her cat was going to die. How the fuck do you know she didn’t say that a thousand times before? It’s all a coincidence, _fuck_.”

Billy is crying in earnest. He gags a few times but doesn’t throw up, and winds up on his elbows and knees, head against the sidewalk. Steve touches his back lightly, slowly, and Billy lets it happen.

“You don’t know that’s what she meant,” he whispers, but Steve’s been there before and is thankful that Billy stopped and stayed. He could have kept running. They sit like that for a long time. By the time Billy’s cried and hyperventilated himself out, the sun is hot above them. Steve gets him up -- first back onto his ass, then his knees, then his feet -- and winds an arm around his waist on their way to the car. They both have sunburn on the back of their necks, still too fresh to hurt , and Steve’s elbow stings where he skinned it in the fall.

Billy is quiet and unfocused when Steve helps him into the passenger seat. It takes him a moment to respond when Steve waves a water bottle in his face, not letting up until he takes a drink. Steve wants to sit half-on the seat alongside him, wants to hold him, wants to say _we’re in this together_ , but his throat is tight with fear. It’s just him, Robin, and Billy this time. Everyone else is too far. Steve’s not going to be able to end it if it ever came to that. 

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and resigns himself to the knowledge that, if the psychic lady wasn’t full of shit, he will be the first to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left!
> 
> The one time I tried to go to the Milwaukee Art Museum was when I called in sick to work, drove up there, and found out only then that it's closed on Mondays. I've also never been to the Mars Cheese Castle, idk why, but I've driven past it a bunch of times on my way more north of Milwaukee. 
> 
> The French the physic was spouting is the poem "Vagabonds" by Arthur Rimbaud (who coincidentally turns out to have been gay) and translated by Reynolds Price: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=190&issue=1&page=37
> 
> The painting Billy looks at is also weirdly by a Frenchman. I hate it but it was in the possession of the MAM in 1987 and was hopefully on display. It's called "Horses and Jockeys" by Raoul Dufy. It looks like something that would be hanging at least in a modern-day hotel, idk about in 1987, and is distinct enough that I figured you might remember it, as opposed to a pretty harbor painting. Anyway, I hate it, and I'm happy I'm posting this chapter so I can close out the Chrome tab where I've been keeping it open.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I let myself forget there’s bad shit out there, bad shit _in me_ ; the kind of bad shit that doesn’t take prisoners. Milwaukee was… _everything_. It was _everything_ , Steve. All of the stuff I should’ve avoided. But I wanted it so bad, all of it. I fell in love with you for the five hundredth _fucking_ time when I should have let it die the first time. I _told_ you, I get so fucking stupid, Steve. Let me, _for the first time in my life,_ do something for somebody else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: cheating, physical violence/domestic violence, comment about disordered eating (PTSD/depression), emotional abuse, speculation about incestual sexual abuse of an elder

“Seven letters,” Steve says, counting down the number of boxes. He’s laying back against the couch arm, Billy sitting between his legs with his back pressed to his chest. “Rocket to London.”

Things have been quiet since Milwaukee. Billy spent the first few days staring out the window or sitting in the bathtub with the door locked. He’s up before Steve and goes to sleep after him. He won’t eat, either. As the days pass, he does look a little less haunted, but the fear is always there, just behind his eyes. He can string together sentences without shutting down halfway through, and looks into Steve’s face when he tells Billy that _anyone_ would be afraid, that he’s not weaker for it, but Steve can tell he doesn’t believe it.

“Arugula.”

“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”

Steve’s been trying to keep Billy’s mind off it best he can, so they’ve been doing crossword puzzles and playing stupid board games he finds at the bookstore down the street. He’s shit at all of it, especially _fucking Scrabble_ , but Billy does sort of smile when he beats Steve because Steve hates losing. If things were normal, maybe they would wrestle. For now, though, Steve just slaps Billy’s knee and demands a recount.

“That’s what they call arugula in England,” he says. He’s been dozing in and out while Steve struggles to get even one answer into the grid himself. The only one he’s gotten so far is _Oreo_ for _black and white cookie_ , and that’s only because he watched Robin convince Billy to eat some of hers this morning when she found out he didn’t eat any breakfast. He spends a lot more time at the gym, too, and mentions he’s lifting again, even though Steve _knows_ he’s been avoiding getting too fit.

Steve wishes he could rewind time and stop them from going to that market. 

“I’m worried about you,” he says one evening when Billy is leaned back against his chest again, their knees sticking up awkwardly above the bathwater. Billy’s been hiding himself away for days. “With the working out and eating and whatever.” Billy just hums noncommittally. Steve presses his mouth to his temple.

“It’s okay to be scared.” His words are muffled against Billy’s skin. “If you weren’t, I’d be _more_ worried. But it’s okay if you are.”

“I’m all right, Steve,” he says quietly, leaning his head back further against Steve’s shoulder so he can look up at him. “Promise.”

xxx

Maggie’s friend lives in Lincoln Park, so they catch two buses and take a detour to the zoo, because Billy is quiet and sweet in a way he hasn’t been in almost a week and it’s hard for Steve not to want to keep that for himself. Billy leans in for a quick kiss in the enclave by the wolves. The trees hide them away from the rest of the world, just for a moment, before they go stand in a crowd of children to watch the seals.

Kat lives in a five-story apartment building about halfway between DePaul and the zoo. The front door of the building is wedged open with a big garden rock and there are hand-made signs going up the stairs and down the hallway to lead them to the right apartment.

Eric is in the doorway when they walk up and he high-fives them both, eyes watering. The apartment is packed wall-to-wall with people and Steve is just thinking that he doesn’t recognize anyone when Maggie appears at his side holding a cup of wine. 

“Steve Harrington!” she yells over the music. “And the _goooooooooatt_!” She throws her arms around them both and Billy kisses her on the cheek. 

“Mags, does anyone here even go to UIC?”

She looks over her shoulder and shrugs. “I don’t know. Kat’s boyfriend goes to DePaul, so I bet a lot of people are from there. Plus, it’s closer. _But_ I _have_ seen -- well, Eric, but I don’t know if he really counts. Robin and Clara are around here somewhere. The guys from basketball; Christopher and Wendy; that weird kid from that psych class we were in together for like one second, do you remember him? And Matt, obviously, but he’s not here yet. We’re sort-of kind-of in a bit of a fight.” Billy rolls his eyes and she pinches his arm.

“Have you gone ten minutes without fighting since you got together?”

She opens her mouth to respond, then closes it. “Shit. I was going to say while we’re having sex, but then I realized you said ten minutes.”

“Go drink some water,” Billy says, laughing. “We’ll see you later?”

“Not if I see you first!” She cackles and dances away.

“Yeah, that was not wine,” Billy says into his ear. He settles a hand on Steve’s lower back so they don’t get separated as they move through the crowd. “Matt does _not_ deserve her. They have that shit kind of relationship where you _know_ they’re not going to make each other happy, but you also know they’re never actually going to break up for real.”

“Like Tommy and Carol,” Steve says over his shoulder.

“Exactly. Less hick, though. I don’t know, man, if you can’t stop fighting, what’s the point?”

 _Bullshit_ , he hears in Nancy’s voice. _This is bullshit. You’re bullshit_. 

“Sometimes you don’t even make it to fighting,” he says, but it might get lost in the bustle of the crowd.

There’s a legitimate bartender in the kitchen in a black vest making some weird red, white, and blue cocktail. Steve is _so into it_ and Billy just grins at him, fond and soft. He thumbs Steve’s nose when Steve sticks a blue-tinged tongue out at him.

He leans in closer so he can whisper in Steve’s ear. “I bet if you kissed me right now, everyone would know. My mouth would get all blue because you couldn’t help yourself. Needed to be...” He catches his breath, high-pitched like it gets when he’s getting fucked. _“Inside_ me.”

Steve pinches Billy’s earlobe, but the damage is done and Billy knows it. “Cut it out,” he gripes, flushing and trying to adjust himself without anyone noticing. Billy steps in closer as someone pushes past behind him and uses it as an excuse to bite Steve’s jaw. 

Not long after, he gets pulled into a conversation with Phil and some of the other guys from basketball. Steve hovers over his shoulder for a full minute, trying not to do something stupid like drape himself around Billy, before Clara comes to drag him away to meet some people from the social work program. Christopher comes by for a bit, then wanders away again, and Steve gets roped in with a group of kids from his ethics class who want to know if he hated their professor as much as they did.

“Hey.” A small hand slides up the middle of his back and Gia appears at his elbow. She’s in jean shorts and an American flag tee shirt and her hair is teased out and she looks _so pretty_. 

“You look great,” he says, struck dumb, and she hugs him.

“How are things?” 

“Good! Good. I, uh, I’m transferring into the social work program.”

“Steve, that is incredible! Wow! A better fit for you, I am sure of it.”

Steve grins down at her, for the first time feeling completely at ease with his academic future. Now he sort of gets why Nancy has always been so into it. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I’ve been wanting to ask,” she starts, then downs the rest of her drink. “ _Bello_ , did you listen to me? Was I wrong?”

He furrows his brow and raises his voice. “About the program? I said it’s a great fit, you’re totally right.”

“ _No_.” She goes up on her tiptoes and pulls him down by the collar so she can whisper to him. “About your _bell'amico_ , with your -- your _man_ , Steve, your friend. The handsome one. Bill. Billy! Billy, yes?” Steve is so surprised that he jerks away from her and she stumbles. He’d forgotten about this conversation entirely. 

“What?” he says, unsure of how to respond.

“Was I wrong about him and you?”

If he says yes, it’s a lie. The thought of denying that Billy is his -- _whatever_ he is makes Steve’s stomach turn. If he says no, it’s the truth, which is just as bad, because it’s Billy’s business as much as it’s his and he really, _really_ doesn’t want her to know, if he’s in a position to choose. It would be weird for her to know before any of their actual friends. 

“Steve!” someone shouts and he looks over his shoulder to see Christopher standing in the doorway of the kitchen and waving him over.

“Look, I’ll catch up with you later,” he tells Gia, prying her hands off his arm. She’s wasted, Steve realizes, and maybe on something too. This isn’t the time to have this conversation. He hopes that _never_ will be the right time for this conversation. He bumps into the girl next to him and, when she turns, he realizes it’s one of Gia’s friends. “Sofia, I gotta go, can you make sure she’s okay? I think she’s drunk.”

“ _Claro_ ,” Sofia says, clucking her tongue and winding her arms around Gia’s small, struggling form.

“Steve, are you single?” she calls. “ _Bello, bello_ , please!”

“I’ll see you guys later,” he says and hightails it over to Christopher. “My knight in shining armor.”

“Yeah, Wendy mentioned something about her being a little messed up over you,” he says. Steve winces. “I kind of think she realized how much she actually liked you after she dumped you.”

“Water under the bridge,” Steve sighs. “Or so I thought.”

“Wendy’s worried you’re hung up on her since you haven’t mentioned anyone else since the breakup.”

“I’m just not all that interested in girls right now,” he says, which isn’t a _lie_ , it’s just not the whole truth. If there’s an implication that school is more important at the moment, then that’s Christopher’s problem, because perception is beyond Steve’s control. “And no way, _no way_ , don’t even poke at the idea of me still being into her. She’s nice and whatever, but I’m, I’m sure there’s someone better out there for me, you know?”

As if on cue, Wendy slides up and tucks herself against Christopher’s side. She’s pink-cheeked and sleepy-eyed. “Hi, Steve,” she says. “That wine is really, really good.”

“So I’ve heard,” Steve says, smiling back at her.

“Fireworks are starting soon.”

“What? Really?” He didn’t realize they’ve already been here that long. 

“Oh! Steve, I heard Gia was looking for you.” Christopher’s hand comes up to wrap around her and their fingers twist together at her shoulder. Steve aches with how easy it is for them. He can’t even imagine Billy ever letting him do something _close_ to that in public.

Christopher chuckles into his beer. “Don’t worry, she found him.” 

The fireworks at Navy Pier begin before the sun has even set and everyone crowds around the living room and kitchen windows. Steve watches Wendy spin herself around on her toes, clutching Christopher’s hand to balance herself. He’s enjoying the buzz and the music and idly wonders where Billy is. If he’s thinking about Steve. If he wishes they could be together in front of all of these people. If he’s pushing aside the fear of the future to feel his heart fucking burst inside his chest. 

Robin appears at some point and wraps herself around him, pressing her face into his chest. She’s drunk and high and laughing about something that isn’t making any sense. Steve runs a hand through her hair. He’s so thankful that she’s in his life and he tells her so.

Everyone cheers when the finale hits and Steve can feel every _pop pop pop_ in his chest. A girl with big blonde curls changes the tape in the boombox, teetering on the shoulders of a beefy guy who pretends like he can’t hold her weight. She shrieks and he pinches the inside of her thigh as he lets her down.

“You get the weed from Eric?” Steve asks. He doesn’t know where his cup went, but he feels good and a hit wouldn’t hurt. Robin nods against his chest. “I might have to go find that jumpy bastard before he’s all out.” He unwraps Robin from his waist and moves her to Wendy, who is still vibing and dancing off-beat to the music.

Eric isn’t hanging around by the front door anymore or by any of the windows, so Steve’s next stop is to check he isn’t hotboxing in the bathroom. When he knocks, a girl inside yells at him, so he checks the three bedrooms at the end of the hall. They’re all occupied, but none of them contain Eric. He flicks the lights on like a douchebag to make sure. He mostly gives up after that.

On his way back up the hall, he hears Gia’s laugh and she’s suddenly right in front of him, being pressed against the wall by -- 

Steve’s world tilts for a moment as he watches Billy kiss her. His hands are all over her body, fingers brushing along the side of her tit and gripping at her ass, and she’s grinning, giggling. For a long moment, Steve just watches, feet rooted to the spot, and then Gia wraps her fingers into Billy’s chain to get him closer and it feels like a punch to the stomach. He thinks he might shoulder Billy hard on his way out of the narrow hallway, but he’s not sure. His vision is tunneling: door, walk, _home_.

There are a few stragglers in the hallway, but the stairs are empty when he bursts in, and he skips as many steps as he can on the way down. The air outside is muggy as he stumbles out and he has to take a moment to put his hands on his legs and catch his breath. And then he’s running again, not really keeping track of what direction he’s going in. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears and he pushes himself harder, trying to drown out the deep-rooted feeling of _bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit._

An alley opens up on his right quite suddenly and he veers into it. About halfway down he stops next to a stack of broken chairs and an entertainment center to catch his breath again. He pulls at his hair, pacing, trying to stop himself from spiraling. Trying to pull at the way he _knows_ he’s not enough, not for anyone, and how angry he is at himself for forgetting. 

He’s too distracted to hear Billy coming up behind him and doesn’t have the foresight to plant his feet, so when Billy shoves him in the back, Steve hits the ground hard, scraping open the scabby cuts on his elbow from Milwaukee. He rolls onto his back and cradles his arm against him so he doesn’t stick it in any dumpster water.

“What the fuck is your problem, Harrington?” Billy says. Steve feels he should be allowed to face this with some sort of dignity and stumbles to his feet. He sways dangerously and remembers losing count of how many drinks he’s had.

“I don’t know, man,” he hears himself say, resigned. “I guess just wondering what _your_ fucking problem is.”

Billy’s nostrils flare like he’s a fucking bull and not like he’s the same guy who challenged Steve to strip poker last night and kept changing the rules on the fly so Steve, who had never played poker before, was in a constant state of taking something off. 

“Stop acting like you own me,” he hisses. “I’m not your _fucking_ boyfriend, you fucking queer.”

Steve’s stomach lurches and his ears burn in embarrassment. He surprises them both by leaning back against the brick wall and laughing until there are tears running down his face. Billy looks absolutely thrown for a loop. 

“This isn’t fucking funny, Harrington.”

“Oh,” Steve says, wiping at his eyes. “ _Oh_ , sweetheart, yes, it is.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Do you know how many times you’ve asked me to fuck you in the last, like, two days?” Steve watches Billy’s ears go red and he’s calling Billy’s bluff, because if he’s wrong, he’s going to be beat to shit anyway. It’ll be either from the inside or out, and Steve’s not sure he can handle much more heartbreak. “From what I’ve heard, sticking your dick somewhere doesn’t make you gay, but wanting a cock up your ass is.”

Billy squares up but Steve shoves first this time.

“Fucking fag,” Billy yells. “Can’t find a bitch to suck your dick, huh? King Steve fell so far from his throne that he’s choking on his golden _fucking_ spoon?”

“Oh my God,” Steve says, laughing. They’re just shoving each other and he’s going to have to take this to the next level if this is the way Billy’s going to be, pushing like they’re in middle school and not sure yet if they can hit hard enough. “Are you serious? Spouting Neil Hargrove at me? That’s so goddamn romantic.”

Billy rushes him and then they’re on the filthy alley floor and Billy’s white shirt is getting black streaks and wet spots all across it, and they’re scrabbling at each other. Billy straddles him, looks like he’s going to go in for a punch, and Steve shoots up an elbow against his nose so hard that Billy sputters and sways and Steve gets blood on his face. Steve goes for a blow to the gut and then rolls them over so he can pin Billy’s hand to the ground above them. He can feel Billy’s semi up against his ass and his dick responds in kind, which is both inconvenient and wildly annoying. 

Billy spits in Steve’s face. “No wonder nobody sticks around,” he growls, letting his mouth fall into a shark smile. His eyes are shining like they were that night at the Byers’. He looks nothing like himself anymore. “You can’t fucking fight, can you, you goddamn fairy? Throwing your elbows instead of your fists like a _real_ goddamn man.”

“Shut up,” Steve shouts. “You don’t think I know you’re full of shit? That you don’t want me to ride your cock right here, right now?” He rolls back a little to prove his point and Billy’s jaw tightens around a gasp. “You think Milwaukee can happen and I’m not fucking in love with you?”

Billy visibly reacts but shutters it off almost immediately. “Fuck you,” he says. Steve presses down hard on his wrists. 

“Who the hell says that?” he yells. He can feel Billy’s muscles contract as he gets ready to flip Steve, and Steve is _pissed_ and doesn’t mind playing dirty so he rolls his hips back again, this time harder, and Billy can’t hide that sharp intake of breath and the way his back arches off the dirty ground. “ _Fuck you_ is a shit response to _I love you_. So _fuck_ you, you insufferable jackass, and I’m still _fucking_ in love with you. They don’t cancel each other out.”

Billy does get him this time, and Steve hits his head hard enough to make him dizzy as Billy settles on top of him. Billy leans close, his jaw set, and points a finger into Steve’s face. “ _Bullshit_ ,” he hisses. “You’re fucking _bullshit_ , Harrington. You act like you’re so much better than everybody else and then kiss everyone’s ass so they don’t tell you the truth. You’re an insolent, _stupid_ sack of shit who’s not smart enough to get into college, and not good enough for mommy and daddy to love him, and not perfect enough for goody two-shoes Wheeler. You’re not enough. You’re never _going_ to be enough. Stop trying to fit yourself into all these little places that aren’t meant for you because _you’re not enough_. It’s fucking _embarrassing_ to watch.”

Steve goes completely slack, his heart pounding. His eyes are stinging with hurt and embarrassment but he holds Billy’s gaze anyway. Billy breaks it first to shove himself off of Steve and kick an empty garbage can; it rocks until he kicks it again and it goes toppling over. Down the alley, a rat dives out of a hopper and scuttles away.

“Fuck!” Billy yells. “Fuck, Harrington.” He scrubs his hands over his face and Steve doesn’t know what to do but lie there in trash water and stare up at him. “I didn’t mean that. Fuck. I didn’t mean any of that. That’s not true. None of that’s true.”

Steve feels paralyzed, so he keeps staring up at the sky. 

“Fuck you,” Billy says. He spits blood onto the ground. “Fuck you, Harrington. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This wasn’t supposed to _happen_.”

Steve tenses up and pushes onto his elbows. Horrifically, a bead of _something_ rolls down his back. He fixes Billy with a glare to distract himself from how bad his head is pounding. “What the fuck are you talking about, Hargrove?”

Billy comes up to Steve again, points an angry finger at his chest, and growls, “You need to get the fuck away from me.”

From the ground, Steve says, “And why the fuck would I do that?” 

Billy’s holding himself like he’s trying to fit into a skin he used to wear but has since grown too small. He can’t even seem to hold onto the anger anymore; it keeps giving way to something else. Tears are tracking down his cheeks and into the blood on his upper lip and chin.

“That thing’s coming, Steve,” he yells, then catches himself and moves closer again from where he’d strayed. “This isn’t your fucking battle, so get the fuck out of my way.”

Now Steve does scramble to his feet and tries his best to tower over Billy with the one-inch difference between them. The sudden change into being vertical makes his head spin a little and he worries distantly that he’s going to stumble and fall again. “Who said it wasn’t my battle, too?”

“That bitch wasn’t _talking to you_.”

“So? She was talking to you and for some reason, despite the fact that you just _pushed me into dumpster water in an alley_ and gave me a _motherfucking concussion_ , I fucking love you and you’re not facing that thing by yourself. I wouldn’t send _anyone_ to figure that out alone. That’s _suicide_.”

“Stop saying that,” Billy says. His eyes close hard, then snap back open when Steve snorts.

“Saying what? That I’m in love with you?”

“I _said_ \--”

“I know what you fucking said. You can shove it up your ass, because I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Billy says quietly. The persona slips away for real this time and then it’s just _Billy_ , shivering and looking guilty. “That’s why I’m leaving.”

“Fuck you,” Steve bites out. His heart tightens painfully. “Why do you act like you’re so above feeling any sort of emotion? Newsflash, jackoff: you’re fucking human. I don’t care if that thing was inside you, that doesn’t mean _you’re not going to feel things_. Where did beating yourself up for that get you before, huh? Oh right, you were impaled and fucking _died_. You get a second chance and you’re just going to make the same goddamn mistakes. You want to be miserable, don’t you? You’re angry that you’re scared so you make everyone else scared, too. But _I’m_ not afraid of you, asshole.”

Billy’s throat clicks with a deep exhale like he’s been holding his breath. Steve’s hands are shaking.

“I’m not scared of anything but you,” Billy says, voice low and serious. He’s looking at a point somewhere over Steve’s shoulder. “It scares me how much I want to be with you. It scares me what I would do to protect you. I knew I shouldn’t have let myself give in to the want, but I did, and here we are.”

“Love and fear,” Steve hisses, “are fucking _emotions_ , dirtbag.”

“ _Fine_. Whatever makes you feel better, but I’m still not going to sit around and lead it right to you. You heard her; it’s coming back. I have the money now that the government realized it fucked up by not killing me before, so I’m going fucking west.” Steve shakes his head and Billy grabs his arms, grip tight enough to hurt. “I’ve gone to the bus station at least once a week for the past four months and tried to convince myself to get on one of those buses, so stop being fucking _selfish_ and grow the fuck up.”

That hits Steve hard, almost as bad as Billy spitting _bullshit_ into his face. He feels himself shrinking inward. “You were planning this,” he says numbly. “The whole time, you knew you were going to leave.”

“Yes,” Billy says. He lets go of Steve to press his palms into his eyes. All of the fight seems to drain right out of his body. “No. I don’t know. I knew it would happen eventually and I let it go on for too long. I let myself forget there’s bad shit out there, bad shit _in me_ ; the kind of bad shit that doesn’t take prisoners. Milwaukee was… _everything_. It was _everything_ , Steve. All of the stuff I should’ve avoided. But I wanted it so bad, all of it. I fell in love with you for the five hundredth _fucking_ time when I should have let it die the first time. I _told_ you, I get so fucking stupid, Steve. Let me, _for the first time in my life,_ do something for somebody else.”

Steve goes to put his head in his hands but thinks better of it when he catches sight of his dirty hands. “You really think this is stupid? All of this? You think staying here with me is _stupid_?”

Billy opens his mouth and nothing comes out. “I’m _protecting_ you,” he says finally, but Steve talks over him.

“You can’t protect me from shit, man! If that thing wants us, it’s gonna find us. What happens when it comes looking for you and you fucked off, huh? Do I just give it your fucking forwarding address and send it on its way? And when it finds you, what are you going to do? Send me a postcard from the Upside Down?”

Billy’s nostrils flare. Steve is shaking so bad it’s getting hard to talk.

“If you’re not happy here, then fucking go,” Steve says. His voice cracks and Billy’s jaw tightens like Steve just punched him in the gut. “But if you really are in love with me like you say you are, then why are you fucking leaving?”

“I put that thing inside of you,” Billy whispers. “It’s my fault you had those dreams. I put it there. What if you -- what if it _all_ gets in your head, too? What if it comes back for me and I kill you?”

“You didn’t put that shit inside me,” Steve says hoarsely. “And even if you did, you think fucking off is going to protect me? If what’s done is done, it’s coming for me whether you’re here or not.”

Billy’s face immediately shutters off. He takes a step back from Steve, then another.

“You know,” Billy says. Steve can hear in his voice that he’s about to start bawling but is holding it back. “I’ve spent all my life looking out for me. Can’t I -- can’t you just let me do this? Can’t I look out for you?”

“I didn’t come into that cabin by myself, Billy.” Billy squeezes his eyes shut. “I had backup. I’ve fought that shit before and I brought -- there were _ten of us_. Ten of us came to get you, Billy. I just don’t get why you think this is going to be good for anyone.”

Billy digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Get _fucked_ , Harrington.”

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole,” Steve tells him. “So that’s it. You’re just going to give up on your life here. All your friends -- _Northwestern_. Your second _fucking_ chance.”

“Things don’t work out for me that way,” he says tightly. “Better for me to get ahead of it now.”

“Sorry I’m not enough for you to stick around for.” It comes out deadpan and a crease appears between Billy’s eyebrows. Steve is teetering dangerously between throwing Billy’s words back at him as a jibe and because he believes them. They’ve been stuck down under his ribs for so long now that it’s not hard to remember what their hurt feels like. “Sorry I haven’t been enough so much that you’ve been going to the _bus stop_. Sorry I’m not enough to deserve a conversation about this at any point in the last four months. Sorry for interrupting you and Gia. Clearly I misread the very clear signals you were putting out there.”

“That’s not,” Billy starts, an edge of anger to his voice, but Steve grips two fistfuls of his hair and turns to walk in the other direction. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, but he needs to get away from here. “Where the fuck are you going, Harrington?”

“I’m leaving,” he calls over his shoulder. “Fuck you, Hargrove. Find me when your head’s outta your ass. Better yet, drink some goddamn bleach.”

“You’re a fucking cunt, Harrington,” Billy yells after him, but doesn’t follow.

xxx

Steve walks for a long time, long after the pop of fireworks in the distance has fizzled out. He keeps walking. He crosses over the river a few times and loses count. _My One and Only_ is opening at the Chicago Theater in seventeen days according to the glowing marquee outside and he stands looking at it for a long time. It’s not until he’s passing a 7-Eleven on Upper Wacker that he realizes he is so, _so_ hungry.

The kid at the counter is flipping through a magazine and humming along to the staticky Bon Jovi coming out of the shitty radio next to the register. Steve grabs a Coke from the cooler, a Twix, and one of the hot dogs rotating on their display. He hesitates, then grabs a second one. They’ve probably been sitting out for hours, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s going to eat them with his trash water hands anyway.

“Hey,” the kid says when Steve puts his stuff down. “How it’s going?” Steve silently flips through his wallet and passes him a ten. “I mean, you kinda look like shit, man. And you _smell_ like shit, _Jesus Christ._ ”

“Thanks,” Steve says, mouth full and spraying bits of bun onto the counter. “Your sweet talking could use a little work.”

It’s hard to find anything south of Merch Mart running this late now that the businessmen have gone home and the tourists are up in River North or out on Division partying, but he manages it. The bus is empty aside from a few other people, mostly couples or small, sleepy groups of teenagers dozing on each other. Steve stares straight ahead at his reflection in the window. He looks like a _wreck_. When he gets up to talk to the bus driver, he catches a glimpse of his pale face and bloodshot eyes in one of the mirrors and has to look away.

“What’s the best way for me to get back to UIC?” he asks. She looks up at his reflection, a bored expression on her face, then a look of disgust when she gets a whiff of him.

“Get off the next stop up here,” she says. “Take the 7. It’ll drop you at Harrison and Halsted.”

“ _Thank you_.” He goes back to sit down but gets back up again immediately and hovers near the door. His hands are still shaking. They pull into a bus stop and he jumps off as soon as the doors flick open and _fuck_ , the bus took him east instead of west. He’s in Grant Park. 

He stands on the bench and shifts his weight back and forth from his left leg to his right leg while he waits. He drinks his Coke and eats his Twix and his hands still don’t stop shaking, and the persistent fluttery feeling in his chest doesn’t go away. Across the street, Buckingham Fountain is lit up golden.

The bus, when it comes, is the last one of the night. 

The apartment is dark when he gets home and he can’t tell whether or not he’s relieved. He peels off his shirt and shoes and slacks and leaves them in a trail down the dark hallway and into the bathroom. He stands in the doorway for what feels like eternity, trying to decide if he wants the lights on or not. He keeps them off. Suddenly, all he can smell is dried sweat and dumpster juice, so he gets into the shower before the water even has time to warm up. 

There’s a heavy, gnawing feeling in his stomach from the thought of sitting in the apartment alone all night, just waiting for Billy to come back. Or, maybe worse, waking up to Billy in bed next to him or kneeling by the couch where Steve had been up waiting. What do they even talk about? How do they get past this? The alley feels distant and hazy like he’d dreamt it or seen it in a movie as a kid. 

He’d never asked Nancy to be his girlfriend. One day she wasn’t, and the next day she was. He and Billy have slept in the same bed together for months. Milwaukee was -- _Milwaukee_. He gave Billy a necklace and Billy gave Steve a cheese hat and a weirdly thoughtful dildo. They kissed each other good morning, and goodnight, and hello, and goodbye. Steve, at least, hasn’t had sex with anyone else since Gia and if that doesn’t feel exclusive then he doesn’t know what does. 

_I’m not like that_ , he’d told Steve. _Not when it matters_.

Last week, Steve came home to Billy laying on the bedroom floor listening to music. He jumped up, looking as happy as he had since before the psychic, and half-bowed to Steve. “May I have this dance?” he asked, voice absurd and grand, and then led Steve in some dramatic ballroom dance that had way too many spins and dips, and it was so dumb and _fun_ and all he could think was _I love him I love him I love him_. Then Billy tried to flip Steve completely over his arm mid-dip and they’d collapsed onto the floor in a heap and Billy laughed so hard he cried. 

Before Billy died, the last thing he said to Steve was: “Nice tits, Harrington. Nice to know there are still bitches that don’t stuff their bras.” Nobody even thought it was funny except for Tommy and Billy had just stared at Steve, head tilted back and eyes lidded, just waiting for Steve’s reaction. Steve rolled his eyes and shut the water off and flipped him the bird on his way back to his locker. He can remember distantly, maybe just from how often he did it, how Billy had crowed and Tommy H. had laughed his obnoxious hiccupping laugh and Steve was two days away from graduation and never had to be in the locker room with Billy Hargrove ever again.

After his shower, Steve flicks the lights on to finally look at himself head-on. It’s not as bad as it looked on the bus. He doesn’t smell like dumpster juice, his hair is plastered down to his forehead instead of straight upright from the stress, and his cheeks are pink from the warm water. He looks human. Beaten down and shit on, but human. 

He doesn’t know where to go, so he paces nervously between the rooms for a while. He considers sleeping in Robin’s bed or heading back to Lincoln Park to crash at Christopher and Wendy’s. He stands at the window and watches a racoon trying to pry a slice of pizza from the bottom of a cardboard box for a while and winds up in his own bedroom with the door locked.

It dawns on him that he doesn’t even know _if_ Billy’s coming back.

Sleeping feels impossible. The pillows smell like Billy’s cologne. The blanket does, too, and the sheets. He tries playing music, but most of the cassettes are Billy’s. He thinks about going to sleep out on the couch instead, but he’d probably be staring at the door all night if he did. He wants to call Dustin. Doesn’t want to listen to his _I told you so_.

When the sun starts slanting in through the window, he takes one of Billy’s books off the nightstand and leans up against the dresser to flip through it. He traces Billy’s handwriting in the margins. He smudges some of it when he starts to cry and it’s embarrassing. It’s almost worse that he’s all alone.

xxx

The sand is warm even through the blanket and Steve can tell without opening his eyes that the sun is bright above them, the sky blue and full of seagulls.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Steve hums in response and Billy leans over to brush the hair back out of his face. “You got a little sunburn on your nose.”

“Damn.” Steve sits up and rubs at it. It’s still fresh enough that it doesn’t hurt. “Did I miss anything?” Billy is all tan, smooth skin and freckles and healthy, flowing hair. The sweat on his chest and stomach is almost glimmering in the sun. He grins wolfishly at Steve when he sees him looking. “How do you look so good right now?”

“Are you saying I don’t look good the rest of the time?” He waggles his tongue at Steve and sits up so he can lean over and kiss his nose. “I always look my best on the beach, you know that.” 

Steve blinks and they’re sitting on a surfboard -- green, with bright pink palm fronds and a blue pineapple -- with their legs splayed out, their knees touching. Billy’s hair is slicked back with water and his head is tipped back a little, face turned up towards the sun.

“You’re right,” Steve says. “Surfing isn’t for beginners.”

Billy rolls his eyes and splashes some water at him. “ _Sorry_ for trying to be _romantic_.”

It is. The sun starts to set, turning the sky red-purple-pink, stars popping up like pinpricks. Steve thinks about the hesperides and the nereids. On shore, a bonfire is roaring and people are milling around it, laughing. The boardwalk looks so pretty lit up.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Billy says. When Steve looks back to him, Billy leans forward to kiss him on the mouth. He tastes like salt water. “I love you too.”

xxx

Steve doesn’t remember falling asleep, but startles awake to the muffled sound of a spatula scratching against a pan. He rolls out his neck, already feeling a little achy from falling asleep sitting up, and just sits for a while, trying to get his head on straight. When he finally gives up, he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and goes out into the hallway.

Billy is in the kitchen standing at the stove in his bare feet, his back turned to Steve. He’s in the same clothes as last night. Steve stands there long enough that when Billy turns around to set a plate on the table, he jumps a little.

“Hi,” Billy says, eyes wide. “I -- hi.”

“Hi.”

“I made breakfast. There’s -- coffee is right there, I made it like ten minutes ago so it should still be hot. Sit, I’ll get you cream and sugar.” He doesn’t move until Steve pushes himself up off the wall and walks to the table. Billy’s made pancakes and bacon and there’s a plate of neatly sliced strawberries and bananas. He’s been here a while. The stove’s pilot light goes out once every eight minutes and needs to be relit, which makes cooking anything a feat. 

Steve sits down, eyeing the food suspiciously. Billy nervously sets the cream and sugar in front of Steve, then takes a full step back. There’s still blood splattered on his neck and dried onto the collar of his shirt from when Steve elbowed him. Billy sees him looking and smiles anxiously.

“I would’ve changed,” he says quietly. He leans back against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed, and looks down at the floor. “But you... locked the door.”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” Steve says flatly and pours himself a cup of coffee. Billy winces. “And that makes it my bedroom, not yours, so.” He takes a long drink. “You know a nice breakfast is what wifebeaters have ready the morning after they beat their wives, right?”

“Jesus, Steve,” Billy breathes. He looks so fucked up and Steve hates all of this. “Look, I know I should’ve talked to you about this. I get that. I fucked up.”

“But?”

“But nothing,” Billy says. “I knew you would try to talk me out of it, so I didn’t. Part of me wanted to and another part thought it would hurt worse if you did know.”

Steve pushes his chair back onto two legs and nods slowly. “Do you think it would’ve hurt more or less than hitting my head on the alley pavement?” he asks. “Or coming home to an empty apartment and not knowing if I’d ever see you again?”

Billy takes a deep breath and pushes his face into his hands. “I fucked up so bad.”

“No shit.”

“I just wanted you to run the other way, man. I knew I’d fuck it up. I should have stopped myself, I’m _sorry_. I shouldn’t have let it go on so long.”

“You keep saying that.” He makes an annoyed, disinterested face, and part of him wants to see Billy grovel while a huge part doesn’t want any of this food going to waste. He hasn’t eaten since 7-Eleven last night, and not since dinner before then. 

“Steve.” Billy braces his hands on the back of the chair across from him. “I didn’t mean any of that garbage I said yesterday. I’m sorry I said it. It was so fucked up. You’re _perfect_. You’re so much more than enough that it scares the shit out of me. You’re wasting your time, I’m not good enough for _you_. You deserve someone more, someone better.”

“You know what?” Steve says. “I wish people would stop telling me what I need. You know? Nancy always wanted me to study more, to do better on my college applications, to stop dicking around with Tommy. To be the bigger, better man. To act older than I was. Gia decided for the both of us that she can’t give me what I need.” He slams his hand down on the table; it’s louder and harder than he intended and Billy flinches. His hand stings. “When do I get to decide? Why doesn’t anyone think to ask, you know, _me_? I’m not ten _fucking_ years old.”

Billy inhales shakily through his nose. “What do you want, Steve?”

“I want you to grow the fuck up,” he says. “You’re really just going to let this thing make you piss your pants the rest of your life? You’re going to give me up because you’re too _scared_?”

“I wasn’t made for this, Steve.” Steve tries to butt in, but Billy just pitches his voice louder. “Nothing I’ve ever stuck around for has worked out for me. I learned my _fucking_ lesson this time. I’m so sick of trying so hard to do something right, because I _can’t_. Things have been so good with you that it almost made me forget the other shoe’s gotta drop eventually. That old bitch reminded me that the second you stop running is when you’re at your most vulnerable.”

“That’s such garbage,” Steve says. “You’re twenty fucking years old. You’ve only ever lived with your shit dad and now that things have the potential to go right, you’re chickenshit. You can’t stand the idea of letting your guard down.”

“I have never been more honest with anyone,” Billy shoots back, voice edging along cruel. “There’s so much shit you know about me that I never told anyone else. How’s that for letting my fucking guard down?”

“You want a fucking award? Hookup of the year?” 

“Fuck, _I know_. All right? Lay off.”

“So what? You’re just going to run away your entire life? Don’t give me that shit about you not being cut out for the good, either, Billy. That’s shit and you know it.”

“Good does not run in my genes,” Billy yells. “We Hargrove men are fucked up alcoholics with anger issues, Harrington. Tell me what about that screams white picket fence to you.”

“Northwestern University. University of Chicago. UIC. DePaul. Loyola.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“You got a second _fucking_ chance. Who gets that opportunity? You’re really going to waste it still believing all this bullshit about destiny? _You_ decide if you become your dad, you jackass. No one else. Sit here and fucking tell me how all of the things in your brand new life -- your friends, the gym, me, Robin, Northwestern -- _tell me_ how fucking terrible luck we are to you, or man the hell up and stop being chickenshit.”

Billy doesn’t say anything.

“Tell me,” Steve repeats. “Tell me these past few months have been bad luck. Tell me how bad you wished you could’ve kicked me to the curb. Tell me how much you hated every single time I touched you.”

Billy shakes his head. “How long is this really going to last, though?” he asks. 

“Why are you asking me? You’re the one who wants to cut and run.”

“How long until you miss girls?” It comes out sounding a little strangled, like he’s putting all his energy into forcing the words out. “How long until you realize you can’t knock me up. This isn’t what you want, Steve. Being _boyfriends_ isn’t going to mean we can go out and hold hands or talk about it with strangers or all of the stuff you can do with a chick. We can’t get married, Steve. We can’t adopt kids. If you want any of that, if you’ve _ever_ wanted any of that, I can’t give it to you.”

“You told me yesterday that you’re not my boyfriend,” Steve says, “so why are you so focused on what we can’t do in the future? It’s 1987, Billy, not 1950. Things could be different in twenty years. Things could be different in _ten_ years.”

“You can’t count on that.”

“Yeah? Well, you can’t count on it being the same, either.”

They’re quiet for a long time. Steve watches Billy stare at the ground while he thinks. So much of his anger has been replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.

“Please stay,” he says quietly. Billy squeezes his eyes shut. Steve slides out of his chair. “Please.”

“Steve,” Billy whispers. Steve touches his shoulder, runs his hand down to his bicep, then drops down to his hand so he can tangle their fingers together. There’s a sharp intake of breath from Billy and his other hand finds Steve’s hip.

“We can figure this out,” Steve says. “You gotta know I wouldn’t leave you on your own.” Billy looks up at him, eyes even bluer against his bloodshot eyes. Steve leans forward until their noses bump. He waits for Billy’s quiet intake of breath before kissing him once on the corner of his mouth. “Go change and we’ll eat, okay? I’ve got a killer headache and all that yelling just made it worse.”

Billy laughs wetly and wraps both of his arms tight around Steve’s neck, holding him close. “I’m sorry,” he says. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and hopes he’s telling the truth.

xxx

Going over to the student union feels like such a chore in the August heat that Steve makes Robin buy them milkshakes on the way there. Classes start in a week and Robin’s trying to be on top of things this year. Her grades aren’t stellar, but they’re worlds better than Steve’s.

It’s just as stuffy inside the building and Steve wanders in and out of the shelves, too heat-sleepy and lazy to pull the list of books out of his back pocket until he’s soaked up some of the air conditioning. He’s in mostly intro-level courses, so it’s easy to find what he’s looking for. He’s done before Robin and hovers over her shoulder while she tries to decide which books she’ll _need_ and which books fall more into the category of suggested reading. She sends him away after only two minutes because he’s _bothering_ her, so he checks out and waits up front. 

The cashier turns out to be one of Clara’s roommates and she and Robin strike up a conversation, as if the 100% humidity hasn’t sapped away their ability to perform basic human functions. He flips through one of his textbooks while they talk -- then another, and another. The fourth book flips open to a page a quarter of the way through to reveal a folded-up envelope pressed into the binding. Somebody’s written _bureaucracy - sorry for the delay_ in neat cursive on the front. He glances up at Robin and opens the envelope to find a bunch of newspaper clippings.

He dumps them out on the counter even though it’s a little disappointing. There are six, all from the _San Diego Union_ , ranging from August 1984 to just a few weeks ago. He skims the most recent one, pauses halfway through, then goes back to read it more closely. His mouth goes dry very suddenly.

_SAN DIEGO UNION_

_JULY 23, 1987_

_DAMIAN SHAW, 20, has been released for good behavior from the METROPOLITAN CORRECTIONAL CENTER on Tuesday, just 5 years into his sixty one year sentence. In late August 1984, Shaw was charged with possession with intent to sell, grand larceny, and armed assault of a police OFFICER. Shaw has no prior record of Time served. SHAW was 17 when he was indicted and SENTENCED and was charged as an adult._

There’s a blurry, overly contrasted photo of what looks like a booking headshot. Steve quickly rifles through the other clippings. One of them is from 1984 and outlines the details of the offenses and subsequent trial. Another is an interview with the mom and sister. One from June gives a shaky biography of him. The remaining clipping is the indictment and sentencing of Richard Krawczyk, the cop who arrested Damian. He was charged with embezzlement, assault of an elderly person in his care, and sexual misconduct. He’s facing thirty years.

Distantly, he hears Robin and Erica wrapping up their conversation. He blinks and it seems to last forever, but then he’s stuffing the clippings back into the envelope, and it’s only then he notices here’s more handwriting on the inside of the envelope under the flap. It’s a phone number. He shoves the envelope into his pocket. 

“Okay, dingus,” Robin says, bumping their shoulders together. “Let’s go. I have some plans that involve me laying naked in front of a fan for the rest of the afternoon.”

xxx

“I hope whoever designed this bullshit gets hit by a bus,” Billy says loudly when Steve and Robin get home. He’s spread out in the living room, like he has been all morning, trying to put a bookshelf together. He’s _pissed_ , pink-cheeked and sweating even though he’s sitting right in front of the window unit. Robin goes into the kitchen to make herself lunch and Steve goes over to the boombox sitting on the couch so he can rewind the tape inside. He wonders, amused, how long Billy has been sitting here in complete silence.

“Have you taken a break at all?”

Billy makes a frustrated noise and throws himself spread eagle onto his back. Robin makes a muffled sound through the apple clutched in her teeth to get Steve’s attention, and passes him two Cokes from the fridge when he finally notices. He smiles at her and gets onto the floor to smooth back the hair from Billy’s forehead and press the cold can against it. Billy hisses through his teeth.

“I’m really good at building things,” he tells Steve.

“I know you are.”

“These fucking instructions, if you can even _call them that_ , don’t make any goddamn sense. Put A into B and C into 1A, but the challenge is, none of the _pieces_ are _marked_. I’m going to be an engineer and I can’t even put together a bookshelf.”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. He puts the can on the ground next to Billy’s shoulder so he can tuck some curls behind his ear. “ _But_ you look hot doing it.” Billy snorts. “Is it true that all engineers look like huge nerds? You’re gonna have to make some stylistic changes if you want to fit in.”

“Someone’s gotta be the curve, babydoll.” He sits up to kiss Steve on the mouth and crack open his Coke. “How was the bookstore? You taste like chocolate.”

Steve leans in to kiss him again, a little deeper this time. “It was fine. I made Robin buy me a milkshake.”

“She is such an enabler,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, as if he wouldn’t be caught dead buying Steve a milkshake. 

“It’s a million degrees outside.”

“It’s a million degrees _inside_.”

Their new apartment is on the second floor, which puts them at a pretty good height for a breeze when the kitchen windows are open. They have a window unit in the living room anyway because it’s the most central room and circulates well. The hallway is wood-paneled and the bathroom is bright, aggressive pink, and the ceilings are smooth plaster instead of the popcorn shit that would occasionally fall down onto Steve’s face while he was asleep. _And_ their bedroom is big enough to fit a queen size bed. Steve felt so strange the first night in the new apartment, not having to press up against Billy in order to fit. The habit’s there, though, so he falls asleep with his face in Billy’s hip when he’s up reading late.

The bookshelf is for the living room and is strictly for Steve and Robin’s textbooks and for all of the overflow once he fills up the two bookshelves he has in the bedroom. He’s been buying things like crazy now that he’s settling down. There’s a painting of a duck dressed like it’s in a biker gang hanging over the toilet because Billy thought it was the funniest thing on the planet and will routinely come out of the bathroom with tears in his eyes and sigh, “That duck is so fucking funny.”

Steve told Billy to decorate the bedroom however he wanted, and only realized when he saw the confused look on Billy’s face that he’s never had a space to decorate as he wanted. The decor has been changing every few days since then. Sometimes he cuts shapes or letters out of newspapers and magazines and tapes them onto the wall. Right now, it says _TAKE IT IN THE ASS_ at least thirty times, each of the letters carefully and neatly trimmed. Above the dresser is a photo of the two of them. Billy goes and stares at it every now and then, like he’s half expecting his dad to crash through the door and see it there. 

“You look so good in purple,” Steve says later when Billy emerges from the shower. From the bed, he watches Billy pull on a Northwestern tee shirt and a pair of shorts. 

Billy crawls onto the bed next to him and throws a leg over his knees. “I look good in everything,” he says against Steve’s jaw. “Also, I want tandoori chicken tonight.”

“Takeout or homemade?”

“Acting like you know how to make tandoori chicken at home,” Billy gripes. “Takeout.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Steve could fall asleep like this, Billy wrapped around him. He smells good. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Billy says, full in a way that tells Steve he’s smiling. “You just in the mood to tell me you love me, or is there a reason?”

“No reason.” He needs more time to sit with the newspaper clippings before he can show them to Billy. Things aren’t _perfect_ , but they’re good. They’re working on communication and trust and it’s hard not to hold onto it with two hands so it doesn’t flit away. He wonders if Billy is going back to California now. Will he tell Steve before he leaves, at least, or is he going to disappear in the middle of the night? Is he going to call that number on the envelope? Will it be Lui on the other end or Damian?

Billy kisses the dip in his collarbone and the peaks on either side. “I like it.”

“I like _you_.”

Billy goes up on an elbow so he can bump their noses together and kiss Steve slow and lazy. He keeps one hand on Steve’s chest, thumb brushing back and forth against his sternum. They make out for a while without it going anywhere. It just feels good to be warm and happy and in Billy’s arms and Steve wants to remember it in case the worst does come.

Robin comes in through their open door a while later when they’re mostly propped back up against the pillows, just talking aimlessly. Billy’s telling Steve a story he heard from Maggie about one of the guys on the basketball team and that he may or may not be dating someone transgender. 

“I want Indian,” Robin says.

“Woman after my own heart.”

“You hear that, Harrington?” Robin winks at him. “I’m gonna seduce him away from you with my abstinence from sex with men and my delicious taste in food.”

Billy goes with her to the Indian place a few blocks away. He kisses Steve on the nose before they leave and pulls away with a dumb, goofy smile on his face. 

As soon as the front door falls shut, Steve is up and off the bed. His textbooks are still on the coffee table in the living room and he rips through them to find the envelope. When he does, he goes back into the bedroom to spread the clippings out on the bed. 

He reads them again. And again. And again. He reads until they all start to run together, and Steve _still_ doesn’t know what this means or how to tell Billy. What to tell Billy. There’s already that fear that Billy’s going to bolt one of these days. This just feels like another excuse for him to go.

Steve looks at the blurry booking photo of Damian. He looks handsome and it makes his skin itch a little. Damian has a goatee in the picture and now Steve can’t stop running his hand over his chin. Nancy liked that he stayed clean-shaven because it didn’t give her beard burn. Billy grew his out a little bit occasionally but always shaved before it got too long. Steve liked it, sometimes _really_ dug the scratch of his stubble followed by the plush of his mouth.

Robin would tell him he’s overthinking.

His self-esteem is still spiraling when they get back with the food and a movie rental from the Blockbuster next to the Indian place. When Steve comes out into the living room, Billy grins at him and gets up from where he’s crouched in front of the VCR to give Steve a kiss.

“We were gone for like half an hour,” Robin says. Steve sticks his tongue out and she mirrors him, the corners of her mouth going up in a smile. “How are you two going to survive when Billy’s all the way up in Evanston for most of the day?”

When she collapses back onto the couch, Steve grabs her ankle and tickles the arch of her foot so that she’s squirming, trying to kick him away with the other foot. He lets go when Billy comes up behind him to drop down next to her. Steve sits on the floor at Billy’s feet, back pressed against his legs. It’s grounding and sitting like this means Billy scratches his head a little as he runs his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Do you think I’d be hotter if I grew a beard?” Steve asks. Billy kicks a leg out over his shoulder and Steve wraps his hands as far as they’ll go around his calf to massage the muscle there. It jumps under his hand. 

“You can’t grow a beard,” Robin supplies.

“Yeah, all right, but there’s gotta be beard toupees or something, right?”

Billy laughs through a mouthful of chicken. “Absolutely not. Nope. I won’t allow it.”

“I’d try it if you would be into it.” Steve rubs at his chin and tips his head back to look up at Billy. “No? Not sexy?”

“I like you the way you are.” He feeds Steve a piece of chicken from his chopsticks. 

“You have dated _way_ too many girls,” Robin says. Billy winks at Steve. “I’m not an expert by _any_ stretch of the imagination, but I don’t think guys need the same assurance that their ass doesn’t look fat in those jeans.”

“Why are you thinking about this?”

Steve hums. “Just wondering if facial hair’s your thing.”

“ _You’re_ my thing.” Both Robin and Steve fake gag. Billy tries to put his foot into Steve’s pulao. “Laugh it up, chuckleheads, I’m standing by it.” Steve almost makes a joke about Billy eating him out in the locker room shower but bites his tongue just in time.

He can’t really focus on the movie and he’s aware he’s fidgeting. It doesn’t come as a surprise when Billy manhandles him onto the couch and into his lap when Robin gets up to pause the movie and run to the bathroom.

“You’re really cuddly today,” Steve says.

“Yeah, like you _mind_.”

“I wasn’t criticizing, just observing.”

“What’s going on?” Billy asks, turning Steve by the cheek to face him. “You’re acting kind of weird.”

Steve shrugs and leans in to kiss his jaw, his neck. “Just thinking about you.” Not a lie. Not the whole truth, either.

“Yeah?” He goes a little breathless. “Anything good?”

“Gross,” Robin says, dropping back down onto the couch. “I was gone for, like, a minute. Minute and a half, absolute max.”

“Your panties are just in a knot because Clara’s home for her mom’s birthday,” Billy says. “Look at this face and tell me how to _stop_ wanting my mouth on it.” He pinches Steve’s cheeks in one hand so his lips jut out. Steve crosses his eyes and makes _glub glub_ motions with his mouth like he’s a fish, and Robin laughs.

After the movie, Steve showers, hoping it’ll clear his mind a little. It doesn’t. Billy is reading in bed when he gets out but puts the book down to watch Steve towel dry his hair. He smiles when Steve pulls on the Mötley Crüe shirt Billy found at a retail shop over his briefs.

“Hey handsome,” he says, reaching out for Steve when he climbs into bed. Steve lets himself be pulled into Billy’s lap again and presses his knees against his hips on either side.

“What’s going on with you?” Steve laughs. Billy busies himself playing with Steve’s fingers, running his thumbs up along his palm. “Have you not been getting enough attention or something?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

The way he won’t make eye contact makes Steve’s smile fade. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“I’m going to sound like such a chick.” He laughs a little but Steve can see the lines of worry in his forehead. “Classes start in three weeks.”

“Yeah, they do.”

“I know it’s stupid to be thinking about them when they’re that far away, but.” He furrows his brow and focuses in on the purple-blue of the vein in Steve’s wrist. When he speaks again, his voice is much quieter. “What if I fuck it up? What if they made a mistake and I wasn’t supposed to get in? I’m gonna be way older than everyone else.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve says quietly. He kisses Billy’s temple then presses his cheek there, arms coming up to loop around Billy’s shoulders. “You’re smart as fuck. They’d be stupid not to want you. Phil’s brother will look out for you up there, and you’re going to be the sexy older guy all the girls are going to want to be paired up with for projects.”

Billy breathes out a laugh. “I’m happy,” he says, finally shifting to look up at Steve. A tear slips down his cheek. “I’m stupid happy. I didn’t know I could have all of this. I don’t want that to ruin it.”

“It won’t,” Steve says quietly. “And if it does, we’ll figure it out. I know it’s a lot to ask from two emotionally stunted assholes, but we just need to keep talking about things, like Robin said. You deserve this, Billy. You’ve worked so hard for it.”

Billy’s mouth twists a little, his nostrils flaring, as he holds back a sob. He nods up at Steve and Steve kisses his forehead. They’ve been working on it, the talking part. Steve didn’t even know Billy was holding back because he talked so openly about his past. He only thought about it when Robin asked him over lunch one day if he noticed that Billy doesn’t ever talk about himself in the present tense. Not when it matters. Not even when they were looking for a place to live. Later, Steve pressed him until he admitted he didn’t like talking about what he’s feeling _now_ because Steve would try to make it better, _be there for him_ , and he didn’t think he deserved that.

“I need to show you something,” Steve says. Billy sniffs loudly and nods. He slides off of Billy’s lap and drags himself over to the other side of the bed so he can reach his drawer. He clambers back onto Billy with an envelope and the box of tissues from his bedside table.

“Thanks,” he says thickly and blows his nose. It must really be a testament to how much you love someone if you let them blow their nose right in your face. “What’s that?” He reaches out for the envelope with his free hand, but Steve grips it tighter.

“I love you,” he says. Panic flares up in Billy’s eyes and they flit back and forth between Steve’s, like he’s trying to read his mind about what’s in the envelope. “I’m not -- I’m not saying that because we’re over or anything, so don’t freak out. I just. I love you and I always want you to be happy. And if… no matter what you decide to do, I’m with you. As long as you want me.”

“I’ll always want you,” Billy says. This time, when he reaches for the envelope, Steve lets him. He mouths the word _bureaucracy_ and flips the envelope so he can see what’s inside. “What is this?” He takes out the clipping about Rick first, so Steve takes it back from him and finds the one announcing Damian’s release. He takes a deep breath and presses it into Billy’s hand.

When Billy reads it, he sits up a little straighter. Steve shifts down his legs a little to give him the space. “What…” Billy’s eyes flick up to him. “Where did you get this?”

Steve opens his mouth and nothing comes out at first. “Remember when I was in Hawkins and, uh, I went and got your paperwork?” Billy nods, his eyes wide and confused. “Yeah, so Jonathan and Nancy didn’t get them from Joyce. They didn’t leave it when they came to visit Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler.”

“What are you saying?” he asks slowly.

“There was a drop.” Billy’s eyebrows shoot up. “And -- _and_ I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t like it. Okay? That’s. It happened, you got your papers, whatever. There was a messenger fee--”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Steve.”

“--and I took out double in case they wanted more. The guy was really cool! The drop didn’t take more than half an hour and as he’s counting out what I gave him, I realized that I had an extra five hundred. So I asked him, hey, you guys can do anything, right? And I told him about how Rick harassed Damian for being Black. And look. _Look_.” Steve pulls out the clipping about Rick. “I didn’t even ask him to go after Rick. This was all him.”

Billy’s eyes flick back and forth across the page. “Is this true? Did Rick… I mean, I know he took care of his mom.”

“I don’t know.”

Billy’s nods, swallows heavily, and goes back to the article about Damian’s release. Steve sits quietly and lets him read through the rest. It was such a spur of the moment decision to ask Lui to get Damian out, but it didn’t take a lot to convince him. He was sold as soon as Steve mentioned he was Black. 

“I’ve seen it happen before,” he’d said after muttering to himself in Spanish. “They do this to my people, too. The gays. My son is gay, did you know that?” Steve shook his head. “He’s with a very nice _chamaco_ named Cristóbal. He gets to be _mexicano_ and _homosexual_.”

“Me too,” Steve said without meaning to. Lui looked a little surprised. “The gay part, not the Mexican part. I mean, I’m not. I’m _bisexual_.” He tried saying it with the same Spanish intonation Lui used, but knew his pronunciation was a flop. It always was in high school. Lui smiled anyway. “Anyway, this is… This guy’s really important to my -- my --”

“ _Tu cariño_ ,” Lui said softly.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I think. I don’t actually know what that means.”

“I’ll do it,” Lui said. “When it’s done, I will send you a message.”

“How?”

Lui had smiled and patted him on the cheek. “ _La magia_.” 

“Are you okay?” Steve whispers. Billy nods and a tear slips down his cheek. Steve sits and waits.

Eventually, Billy looks up at him. “Why’d you do this?” he asks. He half-gestures with one of the clippings in his hand. “You didn’t even know him.”

Steve actually feels a little affronted. “Because I love you,” he says, like it’s obvious. It must not be, though, because Billy’s eyes fill up with more tears.

“No,” he says shakily. “What’s the, what’s the reason? There’s gotta be a reason, Steve. Tell me the reason.”

“I love you.” 

“Nobody’s--” Billy turns his face into his shoulder for a minute to get himself together. Steve combs his fingers through Billy’s hair. “There’s always some other reason,” he says finally. “Nobody ever does anything just because. Power, sex, money, popularity. Tommy bought me lunch every day my first two weeks in Hawkins, even on the weekends. Not because he noticed I didn’t have enough to buy it for myself. Because he knew where he had to be if he wanted to stay on top of the pack.”

Steve holds Billy’s face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe at his damp lower eyelids. “I love you,” he whispers. “Love’s as much a reason as all the rest.” Billy nods shakily and leans forward to kiss him after a moment, soft and slow. He lets Steve hold him and he slips the envelope in his bedside drawer for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Goat" wasn't used until the mid-1990s buuuuut I couldn't find anything equivalent that had the same umpth so just go with it :) Also, please don't go surfing at night wtf!!!! unless it is a place specifically for night surfing, I guess.
> 
> THAT'S A WRAP!!! Or is it??? Stay tuned for a sequel, wherein Steve and Billy go on a roadtrip to California.
> 
> Have any questions that were left unanswered?? Want to see more from this verse?? Hit me up on tumblr at hectordelavega. Feel free to send prompts. I have a handful of things started as companion pieces + the sequel (it will NOT be 100k omfg I will never do that to myself AGAIN) but would love to hear what stuck with you guys, etc., and what else you're hoping to see.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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